I Am
by IlaunaDespain
Summary: After a girl is pulled from the river with a gunshot and head wound, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have to solve the case. But how can they solve a case if the victim can't remember what happened, who tried to kill her, or even who she is. (My First Sherlock Story)
1. Chapter 1

**I Am...**

 _ **Chapter 1**_

 _ **999**_

Darkness, no air and water everywhere, those were her first memories. The blackness was total and piercing, even with her eyes wide open she couldn't tell up from down, until a few precious air bubbles escape her mouth. Using what energy she could muster she kicked her legs and flailed her arms as hard as she could, following the bubbles upward.

Her lungs were burning for air, but she fought back the reflex to inhale. Nothing would be worse for her then taking in nothing more than a lung full of water.

The second her head broke the surface of the water she found herself gulping in as much air as her lungs could contain. At least until her head fell back below the water line. Lucky for her, she bobbed back up with just a few kicks.

It was still pitch black, the only light coming off to her right. Aiming in that direction, she kicked and swam as best she could, which is when she register pain in her left arm every time tried to raise it over her head. Rather then stop and figure out why, she just stopped using that arm. The lights were her goal and she kicked harder. It took her a moment to realize the lights were from a ship docked on the shore and they were getting bigger, faster. The current seemed to be in her favor, it was pushing her towards her goal.

Her right foot hit the bottom of the river first, she had managed to reach the shore. She fought to get her feet to find better traction on the slippery bottom. A few times she lost her footing and crashed back into the waters. She managed to crawl out of the river and a few feet up the bank, well out of the reach of the high tide.

Collapsing on to the stony bank she wolfed in as much of the cold air as she could. She could feel warmth running into her eye but was too exhausted to do more then notice. She rolled onto her back, gazing at the stars, the cold air chilling her to the bone. Her body was shutting down and she knew it, but could do nothing about it. "At least," she thought out loud, "I'm not going to drown," A deep, dark shadow engulfed her mind at that last thought.

* * *

Mike Grubb had been a working at the HMS Belfast for the last thirty years, it wasn't exactly a hard job. Get in before the tourist, set up the ticket booth, make sure all the decks are cleared, and take the food delivery for the café. It was one of the easiest jobs Mike had ever had. He enjoyed the tourist as well. They all had their own story and he was one of those people who loved to listen to their stories.

Mike unlocked the ramp leading up to the HMS Belfast, it was only 8:45 in the morning, the ship didn't open till 10, but Mike liked to get an early start. He shoved the gate open, glancing over the railing, noticing, what he thought, was sea trash and he wouldn't have given it a second thought but for the bright red hair. He quickly left the gate and leaned over the railing, squinting hard, trying to get a better idea what it was he was looking at. His brain was not comprehending what his eyes were seeing.

Then the mass of trash moved, not much, but enough for Mike to get a handle on the fact that he was really seeing a body. "Good Lord!" Moving as fast as his aging body would allow, Mike hurried back towards the parking lot and took a sharp right, towards the river banks. Unfortunately the banks were rocky and steep, much to steep for a man of his age to navigate down. It would do neither of them any good if he were to fall and break a leg.

Mike pulled out his mobile just as another car pulled into the lot. He recognized the car as belonging to one of the younger tour guides. "Kate, I need you over here!" he hollered at her while punching in 999.

Kate got out of her car but didn't hurry to get to Mike, "What is it Mike?"

Once Kate was beside Mike, he pointed to the body on the beach, "I think she's still alive, I saw her move a moment ago."

"Have you called…" Kate started but Mike nodded, wiggling the mobile at his ear.

Kate nodded and jogged back to her car, grabbed the blanket she kept in her boot and returned to Mike, who was giving information to the emergency services. She walked past him and carefully made her way down the steep embankment; approaching the figure on the ground cautiously.

There was no movement and for a moment Kate was afraid she was approaching a corpse, that Mike had imagined whatever movement he saw. She picked her way closer, then knelt down beside the girl. Mike had been right about the body being a girl, the bright red hair was a dead give away. Draping the blanket over the girl, Kate rested her hand on the girl's left shoulder, staring at her chest, hoping to see movement. There was some movement from the girl breathing, but only just. Kate pulled her hand away and noticed there was blood on it. She pulled the blanket back and saw blood had pooled under the girl's left shoulder and there was quiet a bit on the front of it.

"Mike!" she hollered looking up at her coworker, still on the phone, "Let them know she's been shot." She quickly put pressure on the wound, and the girl let out a low groan.

Ten minutes later, Kate and Mike were giving their statements to a Sergeant Donavan.

"So neither of you have seen this girl before?" Donavan asked as she jotted down all the information the two of them had just given her.

Kate was quick to answer no, but Mike was a little more thoughtful, "Well, we do get a lot of visitors here," he gestured to the Belfast. "But I'm sure she hasn't been here before. I'd recognize that hair."

Donavan nodded and flipped her notebook shut, "Alright then, if you think of anything else let us know." She handed them both her card and walked towards her supervisor, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade.

The ambulance had already taken the Jane Doe to the hospital nearly forty minutes ago. She opened her notebook and read off her notes to him, "So nobody knows her or how she got here," Donavan told him as they walked back to their car. "She has no wallet, or any other form of ID," she glanced down at her notes as they reached the car. "Paramedics say she has a nasty blow to her head and a gun shot wound to her left shoulder," she flipped her notebook closed. "I guess we'll get more information out of her once she comes to."

Lestrade said nothing, just opened his door, got into the car and started the engine. Donavan huffed as she followed his lead. Once seated she waited for Lestrade to pull away, but he didn't. "Please tell me you are not thinking of getting that Freak involved."

Lestrade glared at her, he hated when she referred to Sherlock Holmes like that. "Even if I was thinking about it," he gritted out, "I'm sure he would find this case boring."

If Lestrade wasn't mistaken, there was a sigh of relief from Donavan. He pulled away and directed the car towards St. Bartholomew's hospital.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find the Doctor in charge of Jane Doe's case, she was waiting from them at the door. "Inspector Lestrade," she held out her hand and he shook it. "I'm Doctor Parry, I've been assigned to Jane Doe's care. If you'll follow me." She lead them to an elevator, waited for the doors to open, then politely waited for Lestrade and Donavan to get in, then followed. She didn't say a word until the doors closed. "When Jane Doe was brought in she was suffering from advance hypothermia, which was good, because the cold water saved her life. It slowed her heart rate and kept her from bleeding out. The wound is a gun shot, and it nicked the axillary artery. Lucky for Jane Doe she ended up in the river right after it happened, otherwise she would have bled to death."

The doors opened and this time Doctor Parry didn't wait for the officers to leave first. She guided them down the hall, towards the recovery wing. "It was easy to repair the damage, and she is now in recovery, but there is one more thing." She stopped them outside a room where two of their fellow officers stood, both officers nodded to Lestrade. "She's been in and out of consciousness and what she says makes is not making sense, so don't plan on getting much out of her."

Doctor Perry pushed the door open. Jane Doe lay on the bed, her left arm in a sling, her right hooked up to an IV with blood, and her head was bandaged. Lestrade didn't need Sherlock to tell him the girl was sleeping fitfully, her head was jerking back and forth slightly, with an occasional moan. Lestrade moved to the foot of the bed, letting the girl sleep for now. She couldn't be more the twenty, give or take a few years.

"What about the blow to her head?" he asked looking back to the Doctor.

"That one were not sure about."

Lestrade nodded and turned his attention back to the girl.

Her eyes were open, and she had her piercing blue eyes fixed on Lestrade, not with fear but with curiosity. "Sorry," he gave in way of an apology for waking her. "I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade," he gestured to the his partner, still in the doorway, "and this is Sergeant Donavan."

She nodded her head but said nothing. "Are you up to answering a few questions?" She kind of shrugged and Lestrade took that as a yes. "Do you know where you are?" She shook her head. "You are in St. Bartholomew's hospital. You were found on the banks of the Thames river. Can you tell me what happened?" She shook her head again. "What about who did this to you?" he asked, looking a little confused.

There was a moment of silence as the girl seemed to think about the question. "I... I can't," she whispered, looking confused. "I mean. I don't remember."

Given the accent, Lestrade pegged the girl as American. "Let's start simple then. How about your name?"

The moment of silence lasted longer and the confusion on her face turned to fear, "I don't know," she whispered again, more to herself then to anyone in the room. She looked at Lestrade, "How can I not know who I am?"

A few moments later, while Jane Doe was getting an MRI done, Lestrade and Donavan were standing outside her room. "You're thinking of calling Him, aren't you?" Donavan asked.

"You have a better idea?" he asked pulling his mobile out of his jacket pocket. "All the physical evidence was washed away in the river, she had no idea what happened, hell she can't even remember her own name." He waited for Donavan to answer, but she kept her mouth shut.

"That's what I thought." He dialed Sherlock's number. It was John Watson who answered.

"Hello?"

"John? Why isn't he answering his own mobile?"

There was a pause and Lestrade could hear Sherlock yelling, "I am not interested in a body washing up on the river banks."

"That's why?" John answered.

If Lestrade wasn't so annoyed he would have found the fact that Sherlock knew why he was calling amazing, "It wasn't a body, the girl is still alive. And she has no idea how she got there, or even who she is."

Lestrade waited while John relayed the new information. He could hear Sherlock's footfalls, there was a small scuffle, then Sherlock's voice came on. "I will be there in twenty minutes." It was followed by utter silence.

"I think he just hung up on me," Lestrade commented, clicking his own phone off. He looked over at Donavan, the look on her face was murderous. "Oh don't look at me like that Donavan."

Donavan held up her hands in defeat, "I'm not saying a word." She turned away from him, leaving Lestrade to wait for Sherlock and John by himself.

* * *

The girl lay in the big metal tube, with her eyes closed, while it hummed and grumbled. If she could have, she would've covered her ears but the nice lady doctor had asked her to hold as still as possible. If she couldn't remember who she was, she could at least remember to follow directions. She closed her eyes, trying to remember anything from before all the water. Lestrade had asked her how she had gotten into the river, but nothing came to her. Just blackness, water and not being able to breath. She took a deep breath to reassure herself that she could breath.

The noises coming from the machine stopped and her eyes snapped open. "There," Doctor Perry was saying as the machine spit her out. "That wasn't so bad?"

The girl just smiled, while she hadn't liked all the noise it hadn't hurt. "It hurt less then being shot," she joked. Doctor Perry just stared at her. "It was a joke," the girl reassured her.

Doctor Parry smiled, undid the head strap, then helped the girl sit up. "I guess you would know that better then me," she gently touched the girls left shoulder.

After getting into the wheelchair and getting hooked back up to the IV, which hadn't been allowed into the MRI room, Doctor Perry wheeled her back to her own room.

The girl gave a slight smile to the two officers stationed outside her room, choosing not to think about why they were there.

The doctor helped her back into bed and got her situated. "Alright then, just so you know one of our lab techs will in here to draw some blood."

The girl cringed and made a face. "Is it necessary?" she asked, but knowing what the answer would be.

"Sorry sweetie, but yea, it is. Don't worry," the doctor paused then grinned. "I promise it will hurt less then getting shot."

The girl grinned, enjoying the joke. "I'll keep that in mind."

Parry smiled, then walked out. The girl decided she like that woman. The girl flipped on the telivision, there was actually a story about her on it. They were leaving out the fact that she was alive, but unable to remember anything.

Frustrated she flipped the television off and laid her head back into the pillows. That was how the lab tech found her.

* * *

Lestrade paced in front of the elevator doors. It was going on thirty minutes since Sherlock had hung up on him, he was late. Jane Doe was back in her room under the watchful eyes of two of Scotland Yards best. Donavan had retreated back the station, to 'get started on the paperwork.' Lestrade was sure she just wanted to avoid Sherlock. The two never got on, even after Sherlock's "resurrection".

There was a soft ding as the cart reached the floor. When the door parted there stood Sherlock Holmes. Ever the drama queen, he stood in the elevator for a few moments just staring at the Detective Inspector, before John Watson, who stood directly behind him, shoved past him. "If you're done being theatric," John told him.

"Oh come off it," Sherlock drooled. "It's who I am." Without stopping to get directions he strolled through the hallway. "So, the girl? Shot in the left shoulder, head wound, red hair, can't remember anything," he spun on Lestrade. "Anything else?" It was a rhetorical question.

"How about what room she's in. Can you tell me that?" Lestrade was being a smart arse.

Sherlock looked incredulous, "And how would I know that? I'm a genius, not a psychic."

Lestrade rolled his eyes once Sherlock had his back to him. John just shrugged his shoulders.

"Fine, she was found this morning…"

Sherlock interrupted him with a wave of his hand, "Yes, yes, yes. This morning a Mr. Grubbs and Ms. Cooke found her on the banks of the Thames, next to the HMS Belfast. I know this."

They had arrived at the girls door, but didn't go in yet. "We have nothing to go on," Lestrade told him. "That's why I called you."

"Yes, most likely the smartest thing you have done today." He nodded to the door. "Shall we?"

Sherlock gestured towards the door right as it opened and the lab tech walked out holding an ice pack to his check. "She's… um… Well, she's in bed anyway." He ducked his head in embarrassment and shuffled passed the three men.

John looked to Lestrade, who looked to Sherlock, who shrugged and responded. "I didn't do it." Without waiting for the other two, Sherlock barged into the girls room.

Her door bursting open caused her to jerk her head up. The man who barged in took her by surprise and she sat up straighter, letting her left leg hang off the bed. He was tall, lanky and his curly brown hair was a bit disheveled. His coat's collar was turned up and he was wearing a scarf knotted around his neck.

He said nothing to her, just grab a chair, set it at the side of her hospital bed, sat in it and stared at her. She cast a glance to the other two men standing in the doorway. She recognized Lestrade. But the shorter one she hadn't seen before, or at least not that she could remember.

She returned her gaze to the man in the chair. The finger tips of both his hands were touching and he had them below his mouth. His eyes would flicker to glance at other things, but other then that he kept them on her.

She waited for someone to explain what was going on. Why they were here and why this man was staring at her so intently. She glanced again at the men at the door. Lestrade had introduced himself and another cop to her earlier, and if she had to guess, the shorter one must work in the medical profession, given the way he kept looking from her head wound, to her shoulder and resting on the IV pump.

Returning her gaze to the man in front of her she was not surprised to see that he was still staring at her. She grabbed the left side of her neck, given that she couldn't cross her arms, and stared back at him. She crinkled her eyebrows at him, and took a deep breath. She would wait for him to tell her what was going on, or at least ask some kind of question.

Without warning he got to his feet, clapping his hands, and making her jump. "Oh this case is going to be so good," he exclaimed turning to face the others.


	2. Chapter 2

_I would like to thank everyone who has liked and added this story to their favorites. **IAmSherlocked, katybaggins** , and **SkylarkianSongs**. You Guys Rock! Also I got a little stuck on Sherlock's idea of his mind palace and would like to thank _**Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan,** _for assisting with that little block._

 **I Am No One**

 _ **Chapter 2**_

 _ **Loss and Gain**_

It took the girl a moment after the Lanky man bustled out before she could muster up any kind of response, "Ah.. Wha.. Um, what the hell was that about?"

The man she figured to be in the medical field shook his head after his partner. "I am sorry. He is a little peculiar."

"No I'm Not!" could be heard shouted back down the hall.

The man nodded his head and mouthed the words, ' _yes he is_.' He stepped into her hospital room and held out his right hand for her to shake. "I'm John Watson, and that," he nodded his head towards the door. "Well that man, is Sherlock Holmes. He consults with Scotland Yard on the more interesting cases."

She took the offered hand, "Glad my case is interesting and sorry I can't tell you my name."

Sherlock came back into the room carrying a phone book, "Yes that is the first thing we'll have to fix, now isn't it." John moved to stand against the window next to her bed. Lestrade stayed leaning against the wall next to the door.

"Excuse me?" she asked a little confused. Surly he wasn't just going to just point to a random name in the phone book and claim her to be that person.

Opening the book in the middle, but looking at her, he thumbed through the pages. "Well I can't be calling you the Girl all the time, and I am not a fan of the name Jane Doe, so here," he stopped on a random page slide his finger down the page and glanced down. "I am now calling you, Emma."

' _Emma_?' she thought to herself. ' _Well it is a lot better then Jane, and not to mention everyone at the hospital was either calling me Jane, honey, sweetie, or just girl_.

"Okay," she finally said to the group after giving the idea some thought. "Emma it is. So is the rest of my life going to be that easy to figure out?"

Sherlock snapped the book shut and tossed it out the door, "Don't be ridicules Emma, I just needed something to call you. So, shall we begin?"

'Emma' could tell it was a rhetorical question, so rather then answer she brought her left leg back onto the bed and crossed it with her right. "Shoot."

"I think someone already did," Sherlock commented, as he took his seat and nodded to her shoulder. The way he said it was matter of fact, not joking the way Dr. Parry and she were moments ago.

Emma could see John and Lestrade roll their eyes, but either of them said anything to Sherlock. "So where do you want to start?" she ask.

"The first thing you remember?"

Without thinking she blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Water."

He shook his head, "Before the water."

Taking her time to answer this time, Emma took a deep breath, "It was dark, cold and I couldn't breath."

Again with the head shake, "Before that."

It was Emma's turn to shake her head, "There isn't anything before that. My first memories are of opening my eyes to utter darkness, not being able to take in air because I was underwater, following my air bubbles up, breaking the surface of the water, and following the lights from the HMS Belfast to shore."

"So you can remember the ship's name?"

Emma nodded, "Sherlock, I can remember every person's name I have come into contact with, what they were wearing, and what they sound like. But what I can't remember is anything from before the river."

Sherlock's hands were back beneath his mouth again, and he wasn't saying anything.

"You know Sherlock," John was saying from his spot by the window, but Emma didn't take her eyes off of Sherlock. "Maybe she should get some rest, she's had a hard day." Lestrade nodded his agreement.

Both Emma and Sherlock shook their heads and answered at the same time. "She needs to remember," "I need to remember."

Emma waited for Sherlock to say something. When he didn't, she came up with her own question. "Why do you keep staring at me like that? It's like you're seeing an answer that isn't there."

A shrewd grin appeared on Sherlock's face, "I see everything." He stood up, "For instance, you are right handed, missing a ring on the same hand and you have only recently stopped biting your nails." Emma looked at her right hand. The nails were short but to her, showed no sign of biting. He continued, "Since I first came in you haven't stopped fidgeting with your nails, you are either using them on one hand to clean the other, or you are constantly rubbing the tips of your fingers, as if you are not use to the length. Also, and I am stating the obvious here, you're American, going by your accent. However you have lived here before, most likely as a child but moved away before the accent could stick. The way you pronounce your long and short vowels, there is a hint of a British undertone, It's obviously a learned habit, having picked it up from living in London for the past two maybe three years. And finally, you were, at some point in your life, a foster child. Most likely the American foster system."

There was a small huff from John and Emma thought she could heat him mutter under his breath, "Show off."

Emma went to ask a question, stopped, scrunched up her face and started again. "Why do you say foster system?" It was the only observation she couldn't figure out.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

She took a deep breath, "If it were obvious, I wouldn't have asked for an explanation."

There was a huge sigh from Sherlock as if Emma was asking him to do the impossible, followed by an eye roll.

"You're not use to trusting the police, or anyone in authority and you did strike what's-his-name, the lab tech."

"It was Scott and he deserved it."

"Yes, he was drawing blood from your right arm," he inclined his head slightly at the bruise that was forming, "and still you managed to hit him hard enough to require an ice pack. You are someone who knows how to handle herself. Someone might guess professional training…"

Emma interrupted with a shake of her head, "No. Anyone having professional training wouldn't have pulled the punch the way I did. If I had had formally training, Scott would have needed more then just . . .a. . ." She stopped what she was saying and looked from all three men, "How the hell would I know that, but can't tell you my name?"

There was a small knock on the door frame. It was Doctor Parry, "Sorry to interrupt."

Sherlock moved to the open door, put his hand on it, "Then don't." He slammed the door on the shocked doctor's face.

"HEY!," Emma shout and actually moved to get off the bed, but John stopped her. "Don't be a dick! Let her in!" Sherlock actually looked shocked at her out burst.

Neither Sherlock nor Lestrade moved to do as she requested, which was fine because Doctor Parry had opened the door herself, all them stunned into silence by her choice of words. Being called a dick was not something new to Sherlock, it was something he was called on a daily basis. It rarely fazed him, and he would normally just ignore the comment. But coming from her, in her accent, it actually sounded harsh to him.

"My apologies?" he stated it more of a question, and had directed it at Emma, not the doctor. If Emma wasn't mistaken, judging my John and Lestrade's faces, an apology from Sherlock was rare.

"Sorry," she said softly, "I didn't mean to yell like that."

Sherlock waved it off, but he was still startled at his own reaction. Had he actually had his feelings hurt when she had called him a dick? Not possible, John called him that on a daily basis. It was just a word to him, or so he thought.

Looking around the room, he realized they were all looking at him, waiting for him to say something. "Ah, yes. You needed something doctor?"

Twenty plus years of dealing with families who lashed out helped Lori Parry keep her professionalism, "Yes. We got the MRI scans back and a friend of mine, who specializes in traumatic brain injuries, was able to look at them." She gestured to a unimposing figure who had stepped into the doorway. "This is Stephen Timken."

The only word Emma could think of to describe Doctor Timken, was hippie. His long hair was stark white and being held back with a purple bandana. The scruff on his face, while trimmed and combed, was more then a five o'clock shadow, but not enough to be called an actual beard. He was wearing thin spectacles and kept pushing them up on his deep sloped nose.

He didn't offer a hand or even acknowledge the others in the room and when he spoke it was like he was giving a lecture.

"There wasn't any noticeable swelling on Jane Doe's brain."

"It's Emma," Emma said. "I'm going by Emma for now."

"The hypothermia," Dr. Timken continued, and for a moment Emma didn't think he had heard her. "is believed to have assisted Ms. Emma in keeping the injury to her head to a minimum. In fact we believe it is one of the reasons she is awake right now and not in a coma. The cold water kept her brain from swelling."

"Obviously," Sherlock mumbled, more to himself, but if Emma was able to hear it then so could everyone else.

"So what about my memory?" Emma asked ignoring Sherlock's comment.

"Yes, that is a little more tricky," he gestured for her to stand up and John assisted her to her feet. "Take a few steps if you can?"

She did so, her feet and legs felt heavy, but she managed to walk to the foot of the bed with no assistance and found herself standing next to Sherlock. He seemed more interested in what Dr. Timken was saying about her brain, then her.

"I thought so," he motioned that she could sit. She sat on the foot of the bed. "Everyone has three types of memory.."

"Semantic, procedural and episodic," Sherlock chimed in, almost sounding board.

"Shush," Emma hissed at him.

"Yes Mr. Holmes," Timken said, ignoring that he had been interrupted. "Semantic is general knowledge like facts and language. Your's is fine, you demonstrate that by being able to speak." He made it sound like she was a dog who had learned a new trick. "Then there is procedural memories…"

Again Sherlock spoke up, "Also called muscle memory."

"Thank you Mr. Holmes. This includes any action or skill that you have repeated over and over and created neuro pathways for."

Emma was following, "Like if I know how to ride a bike, I'll always know how to ride a bike?"

"Yes, and you demonstrated that your procedural memory is fine by walking just now. It's your episodic memory that is the problem." He actually paused and looked to Sherlock, who didn't disappoint.

"Episodic memory is any experience you have had. Conversations, books, people, even your own name. That all falls under episodic memory."

Emma shook her head, "That's not right. My name, age, even my birthday, those are all facts. Shouldn't that information have been stored in me semantic memories?"

Doctor Stephen Timken held up his hands, "Welcome to the mysteries of the human brain."

Emma felt horrible, "So those memories are what, just gone?"

It was Sherlock who answered, "You can never forget anything. It's just a matter of getting your brain to re-plot a course back to them."

Her head was starting to hurt. She could recall obscure facts but couldn't remember how she knew them. "Like the fact I know the difference between a professionally trained fighter and someone who taught themselves. But I don't know why I know that."

Sherlock missed the frustrated tone in her voice. "Yes," he said cheerfully. He glanced down at her. She was looking at him like he had five heads. "Oh. You were being sarcastic."

She shook her head, "Not sarcastic. Frustrated."

He nodded, but didn't actually understand and she knew it. "So, will I get my memories back?" she asked looking back to the doctor.

Dr. Timken shrugged, "Between all and none? Anywhere in between there. I have seen people make a full recovery and I have seen people have to start all over, never regaining who they were. The human mind is a funny think."

Emma didn't look at anyone in the room, just stared into space thinking to herself. _Never regaining who they were? Any memory of my family, or friends might never come back? Who I am, what happened to me, who tried to kill me, gone?_ She glanced at her right hand and noticed that she was rubbing the tips of her fingers against her palm. "So what happens to me now?"

Dr. Parry stepped up and lay a gentle hand on un-injured shoulder. "Well, we will get your shoulder healed up and you'll go to a Halfway house."

"No."

All eyes turned to the speaker. It was Sherlock. There was a slight pause and for a moment Emma wasn't sure he had spoken. "Well," he stuttered, not looking at anyone in particular, "she's a person of interest and a witness to her own attempted murder. Wouldn't want to loose her in the system." He looked over at Lestrade, "Besides, someone tried to kill, she has no idea who they are or what they look like. Best to keep her with people we trust."

Emma crinkled her eyebrows, not sure if he was actually offering his place for her to stay.

"Are you suggesting," John started to ask.

Sherlock faced his partner, "That she stay at my flat? Yes."

There were three out cries. Lestrade trying to explain how it was not within protocols to allow a witness to stay with a consulting detective. John was listing his own reasons on why it was a bad idea, and Dr. Timken was saying she should be in a familiar environment. Only Dr. Parry, herself and Sherlock were silent. Dr. Parry was watching Emma's face closely. It was obvious Emma did not want to stay here and the idea of this sweet girl in a Halfway Home broke Lori's heart. Emma kept her eyes down as the men argued about what was best for her. She glanced up at Sherlock who was looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She grinned and nodded at the unasked question.

Of everyone she had meet since waking up in the river, Sherlock was the one she trusted the most. Dr. Parry didn't miss the exchanged between Emma and Sherlock, she wanted to go with him, why was beyond the doctor, who found the man to be insufferable and she had only just met him.

"Gentlemen!" Dr. Parry shouted to get their attention, all eyes turned to her. "Ms. Emma is capable of making her own decision and as her attending physician, I'll respect her wishes." She turned to Emma, "It is your choice Emma."

Emma fought back a smile, looked up at Sherlock and then back at the group, "I'll take the consulting detective."


	3. Chapter 3

**I Am. . .**

 _ **Chapter 3**_

 _ **About You**_

Three more days in the hospital and Dr. Parry said Emma was well enough to leave. Lori felt better sending Emma with Sherlock after meeting Mrs. Hudson, his landlady. She had been in to meet Emma the day after it was decided she would stay with him. Mrs. Hudson had been a lovely woman, fussing over the girl, insisting she be allowed to bring in better meals. "You are nothing but skin and bones," she had exclaimed when she had seen Emma eating nothing but a bowel of hospital soup. "You need something that'll put a little meat on them bones of yours."

Emma had like the woman at once. Once, while Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were visiting, Sherlock had wanted to question her about her memories, but Mrs. Hudson had put a stop to that. "You'll so no such thing!" she had injected. "You will wait till the wee thing is back at the flat."

Emma could hear the exasperation in Sherlock's voice, "Mrs. Hudson! This is a criminal investigation." He point to the sling Emma was still required to wear, "Someone tried to kill this 'wee thing'." He pause for a second, judging her reaction at being referred to as 'wee thing', then continued. "If we can't get her memories unlocked, who knows what could happen to your little wee thing."

Nobody said anything, and Emma was trying so hard not to laugh at the wee thing. It wasn't working and she snorted. You would think she had just uttered something blasphemous, given the look Sherlock gave her. She managed to get herself under control, until she looked at Mrs. Hudson. There was shock and a little outrage, but not directed at her. Mrs. Hudson had her gaze fixed on Sherlock, but he was staring at Emma and didn't see the look he was getting from his landlady.

"You both need to stop with the 'wee thing'. It sounds like a bathroom reference." She slipped her arm out of the sling and tried stretching. That had sent Mrs. Hudson off on a whole new rant.

Emma sat on her hospital bed, wearing a pair of scrubs, as she remembering the meeting and chuckled. Doctor Parry was getting the rest of her discharge papers and there would be a follow up appointment in two weeks, but other then that and the fact her memory of her past was still and issue, she was being given a clean bill of health.

Her hospital door open and for just a moment, Emma tensed. She was expecting it to be Dr. Parry or even Sherlock. It wasn't, it was John Watson. He held her discharge papers and a manila envelope in one hand and the hand of a pretty woman, who was very pregnant, in the other. "Oh good, you're ready." He guided the woman to the front and Emma racked her brain for some kind of memory of her. Nothing.

"I wanted you to meet my wife, Mary, before you left the hospital."

Mary held out her right hand, while her left stayed on her belly, "It's nice to meet you Emma. John's told me so much about you."

Emma took the offered hand, "Well, not like there's much to tell. It's nice to meet you too Mary."

John was smiling and holding out the manila envelope, "These are your belongings."

Emma was a bit shocked, "I have belongings?" She took the envelope, ripped it open and dumped the meager contents on the hospital bed. There was silver ring, that when Emma picked it up she noticed the middle ban spun, and a gold chain with a tiny heart shaped purple stone in a gold setting attached to it. She picked up the chain and let the heart dangle for a moment. She was hoping it would trigger something.

"Anything?" John asked hopefully.

Taking a deep breath, her shook head, "Nothing." She set the chain back on the bed, picked up the ring and tried it on her left hand. It felt bulky, tight and un-natural, so she slide it off and tried it on her right, it felt like it fit better. She held up her right hand, "At least we found my missing ring." She was trying to make a joke to lighten the mood, but it fell flat. These were just items to her, no emotional attachments, just stuff. Emma sighed, picked up the gold chain and held it out to John. "Could you?" she asked holding out the chain.

John nodded, and took the chain, while she swept her hair to the side. Mary was smiling kindly but even Emma could tell she felt sorry for her.

John got the clasp fastened and Emma let her hair fall back into place. "So," she said plastering a smile on her face, "shall we get this show on the road?"

Nurse Becky made Emma ride in a wheelchair to leave. "It's hospital policy," she told a very grumpy Emma. Emma sat down, putting her feet on the pedals and crossed her right arm under the sling. She hoped she looked grumpy. If she never saw another wheelchair, it would be to damn soon.

Outside a taxi was waiting for them. Emma couldn't get out of the chair quick enough. She turned to Nurse Becky and gave her a quick hug, "Thank you."

Mary got into the cab first and Emma followed, with John bring up the rear.

There was silence in the cab for a moment before Mary spoke up, "You know Emma. If you're not a fan of wearing scrubs, I can take you shopping tomorrow for some real cloths?"

Emma looked over at her, "I hadn't thought of that." She glanced down at the pale green surgical scrubs, "Yea, that sounds like fun."

Mrs. Hudson was waiting on the stoop when the taxi pulled up. She opened the door, and first helped Mary out and then Emma. "Oh Emma dear," she wrapped Emma in a hug, "so nice to see you again."

Emma laughed but returned the embrace, "You saw me yesterday Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson waved her off, then turned to hug Mary was well. John stood off to the side holding a boutique bag. He motioned to the door and the three ladies entered.

John showed Emma to his old room, while Mary waited by the cab. Mrs. Hudson had made an attempt to girlie it up a bit with a nice vase of sunflowers and a bright pink comforter. Emma smiled at the sweet touches.

"So this," John was telling her, "will be your room for now." He set the bag on the bed. "Mary donated an outfit for tomorrow and a few other girlie items for you."

Emma sat on the edge of the bed and peeked into the bag. There was a light blue, long sleeved top and tan cargo pants. She also found some nice smelling shampoo and conditioner. "Tell her thanks and I'm looking forward to tomorrow."

John nodded, glanced about the room and rocked on his heels. "So, um…"

Emma smiled up at him, "Prescriptions, remember."

He snapped his fingers, "Right, about that." He hunched down in front of her, "We're going to have Mrs. Hudson keep track of your pills."

For a moment Emma was insulted. Did John really think she would overdose herself. "Why?"

He ho-hummed a little before answering her. "It's… well it's because of Sherlock. He's… umm. He's a recovering drug addict."

Emma let the sink in for a moment before replying, "And you think he would take my pain pills, which would leave me in excruciating pain." She shook her head, "I don't believe he would do that to me."

"He relapse a few months ago, and we figure better to remove the temptation."

Studying John's face, she came to a conclusion. "You really," she stretched out the Ee, "didn't want to tell me this, did you?"

John gave her a half smile, and got back to his feet, "I didn't want to give you a bad impression of him, that's all. He's a good guy."

Emma stood up, patted John on the shoulder, "I know." She walked past him, tossing over shoulder, "And I don't think it will be necessary."

Emma looked around the flat. John had taken off with Mary, while Sherlock was at a table, set up in the middle of the kitchen. He seemed to be staring intently into a microscope. In fact she wasn't even sure he knew she was there. Mrs. Hudson had returned to her flat, she'd said she would bring up some nibblers in a while.

She adjusted her sling, attempting to roll her shoulder. There was a slight twinge of pain and she hissed.

Sherlock looked up, "Your shoulder bothering you?"

Grimacing, Emma nodded, "John said he would pick up my prescription and drop it off."

Sherlock nodded and went back to whatever he was studying.

Emma bit her lip and took the seat across the table from him, wondering what he was looking at. Her eyes wondered to a few of the glass jars on the table and a few on the kitchen shelves. She sat there for a moment before blurting out, "So, John tells me you're a recovering addict."

This got his attention and he jerked his head up and cocked it to the side, "John told you that?"

Shrugging her shoulder, "It came up in conversation, yes."

He actually lost interest in the microscope, "And just how did something like that come up in a conversation?" It wasn't lost on her that he was avoiding the subject or that his normal complexion was turning a slight shade of red. Was he actually mad at John for telling her.

"We were discussing who was going to be in charge of my medication," she told him as a matter of fact. "He suggested Mrs. Hudson and I asked him why."

Crossing his arms, Sherlock leaned back in the chair, "And he mentioned my drug use." It was a statement, not a question.

"I told him it wouldn't be necessary."

Sherlock huffed, stood up and walked out of the kitchen. Emma sat there for a moment, trying to figure out why he was getting so huffy. She stood and followed him into the living room.

He ignored her, picked up his violin and started to play.

"What?" Emma asked to his back. She couldn't tell what song he was playing but it sounded sad. She stood there and listened for a moment. The way he was acting, coupled with the sound of the song, was so childish. Then it hit her.

"Oh My God!" she exclaimed. "You're throwing a titty tantrum!"

Sherlock hit a sour note, lowered the violin and bow while spinning to face her. "A What!"

She took a step toward him, "A titty tantrum. You're throwing a fit, like a spoiled child." She snicker at that thought.

"I most certainly am not!" he punctuated each word.

"You know," Emma huffed, "I never would have pegged you as the type of person who…"

"Who what?" he interrupted quickly waving the bow. "Who is a drug user!"

"No," she said sternly, stepping even closer. "As someone who cares what other people think of them."

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. Normally he wouldn't give a rat's arse what someone thought of him. He left that to John. When Moriarty had burned his reputation and had all of London believing he was a fraud, Sherlock hadn't given it a second thought. It was John who was wounded by others thinking poorly of him. So why did he care if this… this child, thought poorly of him. _I don't_ , he told himself.

Emma could tell he wasn't prepared for the answer she had given him. She took a deep breath, "Sherlock. Everyone has baggage." She waited for him to say something, but all he did was stand there staring at her. "It wasn't as if John was giving away some big secret. He was simply looking out for you. Hell," she gestured to him, "I wouldn't want to see a friend relapse either."

Still he said nothing. Mrs. Hudson came in carrying a tray of biscuits, a pot of tea and two cups. She stopped short when she saw the two of them standing there. "Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting?"

Emma shook her head, "No." She moved past Mrs. Hudson, towards her room, "I'm going to lie down."

Sherlock said nothing but Emma could hear Mrs. Hudson asking what was going on.

Closing the door, Emma turned to the bed. "Well, that didn't go well." She rearranged the pillows, to support her shoulder then lied down. She replayed the argument in her head, and in hindsight maybe she shouldn't have said anything. But the man was a huge curiosity to her. The way he had been able to tell a few things about herself, simply by looking at her, was amazing. How could she have been so wrong about him not caring what people thought of him. That was one of the reasons she thought it would have been fine to ask about his past. _Guess that blew up in my face_ , she mused. _I just hope he doesn't get mad at John for telling me._

Her eyes were getting heavy and she realized that she hadn't gotten much sleep in the hospital.

 _She was swimming in darkness again, holding her breath as she kicked towards the light above her. Once on the surface, she flipped her hair our of her eyes. There were the Belfast lights to her right, like before, but this time she could see a dark shape between her and the ship. She turned herself around in the water and other dark shape with little lights outlining it loomed in the distance._ A bridge, _she said out loud. She noticed that she was going in the wrong direction. She needed to get to that bridge, so she kicked harder. Something grabbed her leg and pulled her back under the water. She tried to kick harder but whatever had her leg wasn't letting go. She looked up at the light and could see it getting smaller. Something else was coming at her from the surface. She twisted her left shoulder and pain erupted in it._

"AHHH!" Emma bolted up grabbing her shoulder, it felt like it was on fire. Crying out in pain, she collapsed back onto the pillows. It wasn't hard to figure out what happened, she'd pulled her shoulder in her dream and in real life.

Sherlock barged into the room, took one look at her in tears and was at her side. "It's fine," she told him, trying to sit up. "I just pulled it in my sleep." She was cradling her arm, any kind of movement sent hot flames down her arm, causing her to groan.

Sherlock sighed and helped her sit up "If you are fine, then I am normal," he mumbled.

Even the act of sitting up caused her incredible pain, "OW!"

"John should be back by now." He actually sounded mad that his friend wasn't there.

As if on que, Emma could hear John calling to them from the living room. "We're in Emma's room, Hurry Up!"

There were pounding foot steps and Emma saw John hurrying into the room, out of breath. "What? What happened?"

He was holding a small white sack and Sherlock turned quickly, snatched the bag out of his hands, tore it opened and let a small orange pill bottle drop on the bed. Before John could snap it up, Sherlock had the bottle open and was shaking two of the little white pills into his hands.

"Sherlock!" John started.

"SHUT IT JOHN!" Sherlock roared at his friend as he pressed the pills into Emma's hand. "Be useful and get her some water!"

Emma shook her head, having already downed the pills. "It's fine Sherlock." She looked up at John, "How long for the pills to kick in?"

'Umm." John stuttered, trying to figure out why Sherlock was furious and why Emma was in so much pain. "Ten to fifteen minutes. What the hell happened?"

Before Sherlock could answer, Emma told him. "I pulled my shoulder in my sleep." She let herself fall back.

There was more to the story, but the dream was fading and no matter how hard she tried Emma couldn't think around the burning in her shoulder. _Just another thing I'll forget._ But there was something about the dream she knew she couldn't forget. If she could just focus.

It was then Emma noticed that Sherlock had taken her hand and was staring at her again. He was saying something, "Breathe."

"What?" she hissed at him.

"Take a deep breath in, when you let it out count." He took a deep breathe and she followed.

"One." she huffed out.

She did it again and Sherlock grinned a little, "Good, now this time picture your lungs filling with air."

She did and noticed he was gently rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. "Just keep talking," Emma blurted out.

There were two small chuckles, one from John and the other from Sherlock. The pain in her shoulder was still there but easier to think around. "A bridge," she managed to get out between breaths. "I remember a bridge."

Sherlock nodded, "I already checked out the Tower Bridge, closest bridge to the Belfast. There was nothing there. That's not were you entered the water. Believe me, I would have found it. There was evidence of three muggings, two assaults, and one stolen bicycle. Relax John," he tossed over his shoulder. "I will informed Lestrade tomorrow that I solved them for him."

"So in one day," Emma said quietly, "you manage to solve five cases. Boy am I glad my case interested you." The breathing was helping but so was hearing Sherlock's voice.

Sherlock looked over his should, John seemed to have left. "Me too," he whispered to her. "Just don't tell John that."

They stayed like that for a moment, till Emma looked over at him, "I'm sorry I stuck my nose where it didn't belong. I was just curious and I didn't think you would mind."

"Yes, well. Normally I wouldn't." He looked at her very intently, "It seems to matter what you think of me." He just wished he could figure out why it mattered to him. "How's the shoulder?"

"Better," she told him, as she sat up.

Mrs. Hudson walked into the room carrying the tray of tea, with John right behind her.

"May I take a look at you shoulder," John asked as he reached for it. Emma nodded. It was still hurting but nothing should couldn't deal with. Until he tired it rotate it back and she hissed in pain.

Quicker then she thought possible Sherlock slapped John's hand away from her with his free one, "That's enough John." The sentence came out more of a warning.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed as she was setting the tray on the dresser.

The warmth of Sherlock's hand left Emma's as he got to his feet and walked out of the room suddenly. Emma was hurt, she couldn't figure out what they heck had just happened.

John must have seen the hurt on her face and patted her arm, "Don't worry about it Emma. It's not you." He turned his attention back to her shoulder. "Think you can sit up without hurting?"

Emma nodded, but struggled a little, as she was afraid to moved her entire left arm. "Help," she finally asked.

Smiling John assisted her into a seated position and Mrs. Hudson handed her a cup of tea. "Here you go."

"So," John asked as he probed her shoulder, eliciting another hiss of pain when he pushed it forward, "you remember something about the night you were injured?"

Emma nodded, "Yea a bridge's lights."

He finished messing with her shoulder, "Well, each bridge has it's own unique light pattern. If you can remember…"

"Our cabbie's name was , he was forty-six, and lives at 740 Wicker Way," she grinned at she repeated what she had seen off the cabbie's license. "I think I can manage to remember a bridge's lighting pattern." She paused, "There's just one thing. I was hoping we could go check it out today. I really don't want to cancel my date with your wife."

Mrs. Hudson handed her a cup of tea, "Oh isn't that sweet, you and Mary having a girls day out."

Emma took a sip of the tea and immediately spit it back into the cup, "Umm, eww, gross." She held the cup back to Mrs. Hudson, who took it. "Sorry," she whispered when she noticed the look on Mrs. Hudson's face. "It wasn't what I was expecting."

John was smiling again. "Americans," he whispered under his breath, before answering her initial question. "I'll ask Sherlock if he's…"

Emma shook her head, "No. I don't want Sherlock there." A tightness in her chest came out of no where. "If he's there," she explained, "he'll just tell me, and I need to figure out this part."

There was a brief hesitation on John's part. "I'll think about it," was all he said.


	4. Chapter 4

_I would like to thank_ _ **Ariane**_ _again for the help with the little details I needed to look up. Also thanks to_ _ **Hurricane.97, Thilbo4Ever, hatter sammy, lost-inside-the-darkness, JediGemini, Jesnic27, Tammy Charles, and mylenioex**_ _for adding this story to their favorites. Finally a thank you to_ _ **IAmSherlock, Katy Baggins, SkylarkainSongs, and INDfamily,**_ _for the great and helpful reviews._

 **I Am . . .**

 _ **Chapter 4**_

 _ **Falling Down**_

John swept the beam of the torch back and forth across the rocky shore next to the Belfast. He had thought about what Emma had asked and when he broached the subject to Sherlock, who was back at his microscope, all he got was soft grunt. "I'm still not sure what it is you are hoping to find. Any evidence or clues about how you got here would have been cleared off by the tide or the police."

However, Emma wasn't looking at the ground. She had her eyes out towards the waters and upstream. She'd 'borrowed' one of Sherlock's coats and it drowned her, she'd had to roll the sleeves a few times just to use her hands and the hem was dragging on the ground. "Sherlock said he checked out that bridge," she pointed towards the well known London Bridge. It was out lined in lights, but it wasn't the same pattern from her dream.

"Yea, he even took Lestrade with him."

She kept her eyes on the bridge, "I don't think I fell off that one. Judging from the distance of the bridge, the speed of the river, and taking into account the amount of time I spent out of the water, and the temperature that night, I wouldn't have been in the water long enough for advance hypothermia to have set in." Emma gave her right hand a see-saw motion, "Maybe early onset of hypothermia, but defiantly not advanced." She turned towards John, "No, I would have had to enter the water from further up the river."

The look John was giving her was one of disbelief, and she waved her hand dismissively, "I know, I know. How can I know all these facts, but I can't tell you where I was born."

"Actually I was thinking how much you sound like Sherlock. Just without the condescending tone." John smiled at that and shook his head. "So if not the London Bridge then," he took a moment to think. Emma knew the only other bridge she could had entered the water from, but she let John figure it out, "That would make your entry point the Southwark Bridge, sound about right?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

John realized who he was with and shook his head, "Sorry, force of habit."

Emma shook her head, realizing it must be something between him and Sherlock. "So, can we go see the Southwark Bridge now?" She was hoping something on the bridge would help trigger her memory.

John sighed, "It's late and I'm sure Mrs. Hudson…"

"Come on John, it's right there," she whined. "Who knows. I might remember something." She was fidgeting with the necklace.

John looked Emma in the eyes. They were wide and surprisingly bright, even in the dark he could see the blue of them. He really wanted to tell her no, that they should get back to the flat, but found himself saying, "Alright, let's go."

They were able to find a cabbie, and Emma was doing a happy dance in her head as the bridge came into a better view. The lights on the bridge matched the bridge from her dream. _This should be it_ , she thought. _There has to be something there to trigger my memory_.

A few minutes later found the two of them standing at the south side of the Southwark Bridge. There were very few people on the bridge, but still John stayed close to her.

Walking out onto the bridge Emma braced herself, she just wasn't sure for what. But nothing happened, no flashes of her past life, not big headache, nothing. Still Emma wouldn't give up and walked further onto the bridge. A third of the way to the middle Emma gave up on remembering, instead focusing on the bridge itself. She scanned the sidewalk, the railing, even taking note of the trash, anything that would suggest a struggle.

She found it at the halfway point. The railing was scrapped up, and upon closer inspection Emma found dried blood on the sidewalk and under the railing. "Here," she told John, "this is where I went in."

"Are you remembering anything?" he asked, looking over the railing.

Frustrated, Emma turned away from the water. "No," she whined. "I was so sure if I saw the place I went into the water, I would remember something. I mean shouldn't I be overwhelmed with flashes of my life? Or even a cartoon raccoon waving its paws saying, 'Remember.'" She waved her hands to demonstrate and this elicited a chuckle from John.

"Emma, you have seen one to many TV shows."

"Yea," she said crossing her arms, "shows I don't remember watching." She was getting peeved, but making John laugh helped her feel a lot better.

John nodded, "Ready to head back?"

Emma nodded, and they started walking back to the south side of the bridge. John put a comforting arm around her shoulder, "Don't worry. We'll figure it out."

Neither of them noticed the man watching them and talking on his mobile.

"Yea, she's alive," he whispered into the phone. "She is leaving the Southwark Bridge." There was a slight pause as he received his instructions. "Okay, I'll let you know." He hung up the phone, tucked into his back pocket and followed John and Emma back to 221B Baker Street.

* * *

The next morning found Emma waking up to the delicious smell of bacon, eggs and biscuits. Sherlock hadn't been at the flat when she and John had returned. Since it was late, Emma had gone to bed, allowing John to return home to Mary.

Her shoulder was stiff but after of few of the exercises she'd been given, it loosened up. Now it was throbbing, but she held off on the pill. She took her arm out of the sling, but didn't actually take it off, just in case. She made her way towards the yummy smells.

To her surprise, it was Sherlock who was cooking. He gave her a small nod in way of a good morning, but kept cooking. The table in the kitchen was cleaned off and actually set for four people, "Are you expecting company?"

He was scrapping the pan of eggs on to a large plate. "John and Mary," he told her setting the plate on the table. "I have learned that a pregnant woman without food tend to get cranky."

As if on que, Emma heard the door open and Mary's voice carried up the stairs, "We're here."

Emma realized that she was still in the night cloths Mrs. Hudson had laid out for her. "Umm.. Can you stall them."

Sherlock looked pointedly to the breakfast spread on the table, "Will this do?"

She nodded her thanks and headed back to her room. She grabbed the blue shirt and kakis and headed to the bathroom to get ready. She considered skipping a shower but there was no way she was going out in public without it.

She was in and out in under ten minutes and not knowing what to do with her hair she quickly brushed it and left it down. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, Mary seemed on her second plate of food, while John sat next to her watching her eat.

Emma grabbed a biscuits and took the last open seat next to Sherlock, "How's little Watson doing?"

Mary patted her belly, "Hungry."

The four of them sitting around the table was cozy. "So," Mary asked between bites, "what do you boys have planned?"

It was Sherlock who answered, "John and I are going to see Lestrade. Maybe help him close a few cases."

After breakfast Mary took Emma by the hand and lead her out of the flat. "You boys have fun, we'll be back after noon.

Once in the cabbie, John wouldn't let Mary drive her car given her belly wouldn't fit behind the wheel, Mary started talking nonstop about the morning. "I am so glad those cloths fit. They do look cute on you and all, but lets get you something a little more up to date." Mary addressed the cabbie, "Westfield, please."

It was a short ride, only ten minutes and Mary was going on about the shops they would have to check out.

The first place they stopped was Dune, a shoe shop. The moment they entered a salesman approached them. "How may I help you ladies?"

Mary put her arm around Emma's shoulder, "We are here for her, she is in desperate need of new shoes." She pointed to the sneakers Nurse Becky had given Emma. They were fade, worn and a size too big.

"Oh my dear," the man said, his name tag read Mitch, taking Emma's other side. "We need to get you out of those atrocities.

Thirty minutes later Emma and Mary were walking out of Dune, Emma wearing a pair of pink Ballerina flats. "So we have the shoes," Mary told her directing her to another store. "Now for the outfits."

"Mary, you don't have to do this." Emma tried to protest, but Mary just waved her off, herding her into another store, this one called Fraser.

"I do, I need the practice." She patted her belly. After that Emma stopped protesting.

The really nice thing about shopping at Westfield, not having to carry around shopping bags. Every store was willing to ship the purchases to Baker Street at Mary's insistence. The only thing Emma asked to wear, other then the shoes, was the black jacket Mary got her.

It was nearly noon when Emma finally had to tell Mary that enough was enough and they really needed to stop for lunch. Mary agreed, but only after her own stomach grumbled. She hailed a cab and once inside told the cabbie, "27 Melcombe street, please." She turned to Emma, 'It's this great little café called Dorset. They have a great selection of sandwiches and wonderful tea."

Mary was right about the sandwiches, not so much about the tea. Emma ended up getting a coffee. After lunch, Mary suggested they walk back to the flat. "It's only a block away. Besides," she looked at her feet, "not like I couldn't use the exercise."

They started to walk, "Mary, you are pregnant, not fat."

They walked a little ways down before Emma asked, "Have you and John decided on baby names?"

This got Mary really talking. "Well I was thinking Agnes, but John is against that name. He thinks we should name her after me," a mischievous grin spread slightly on her face. "Of course Sherlock is suggesting Sherlock."

"Obviously," Emma said in her best impression of Sherlock.

The two of them laughed. Neither noticed the blue sedan following them.

* * *

"It really is impossible for you to not piss people off, "John was saying as he hung up his coat. He and Sherlock had just returned to the flat after meeting with Lestrade.

"It's not like I can just dumb it down for people," Sherlock informed him, picking up the violin. "Besides, that's five less cases they have to blunder through."

"I'm not asking you to dumb it down," John sat in his chair. "I am asking you to quit sounding so condescending to Lestrade's people." Sherlock ignored him and started playing. John sighed, "Oh yea, I really missed this." He picked up the paper and flipped to the middle.

"I am surprised you haven't asked how last night at the bridge went." John tried to goat him.

Four bars later, Sherlock answered him. "No doubt you figured out it was the Southwark Bridge that Emma fell off."

"Well I am pretty sure Emma figured it out first." John closed the paper, and didn't miss the crooked grin on Sherlock's face.

"She's a smart one."

Sherlock's mobile went off, so he set the violin down and picked it up. A small sigh and he answered it. "What now Lestrade? Need help with another boring…"

Whatever Sherlock had been about to say was cut short. "Are they alright?"

The seriousness of his tone got John's full attention, "Sherlock?"

"We'll be right there." Not waiting for a response, Sherlock hung up. "Grab your coat, Mary and Emma were attacked, they're at Bart's." Sherlock didn't think John could move that fast. He was out the door before Sherlock had grabbed his scarf.

* * *

Emma sat with her left hand bandaged, she was still unsure at what point she had managed to cut it. The nurse had offered her something for the pain but Emma had declined, she needed to keep her head clear and the pain wasn't to bad. She kept playing and replaying what had happened in her head, she couldn't let herself forget a single detail. Sherlock and especially John would want to know what happened, in detail. Lestrade had asked repeatedly for her statement, but she was holding fast to her guns that she wouldn't say a word until Sherlock or John got there. It was driving Donavan nuts that Emma was refusing to talk to them.

She heard John before she saw him. "Where is she! Where's my wife, where's Mary!" His voice carried loud and clear down the hall. Emma stood up from her seat and watched John come careening around the corner, stopping at the Information Station. His appearance said it all, hair disheveled, coat buttoned up wrong, and eyes frantic. If Emma was freaking out about Mary's condition, then John would be hysterical. She was about to call out to him, when she saw Sherlock sprinting about the same corner. Unlike John he didn't stop at the station, but walked straight to Emma.

"How is she?" Sherlock asked as he took her wrist.

Emma shook her head, she could feel her hands ball up into fists and start shaking. "I don't know," she said weakly, "they won't tell me anything because I'm not family."

"And you?" he asked looking into her eyes.

She shook her head, "I'm fine."

John must have seen where they were and followed Sherlock, because he was right there with his hands on her shoulders. "What happened?" he asked in a very level tone, but there was something scary as hell about this calm John.

Taking a deep breath, Emma got ready to tell them everything, but Sherlock stopped her. "Not here." He nodded to the chairs further from the station. "Let's sit down."

John looked about ready to go off on him, but Sherlock seemed to be ready for that, "Emma's heart is racing and her hands are shaking. She needs to sit." He nodded to her fists and John seemed to lose what ever steam he had built up and just nodded.

Emma reminded herself to never get on John's bad side. This quiet, but ready to go ape shit John had her on edge. She let Sherlock lead her back to her seat and sit her down, but even sitting down, her hands shook.

"Okay," Sherlock started, sounding just as calm as John. "Start from the beginning."

Emma nodded, took a deep breath and started. "Mary and I were walking back to the flat after shopping. A dark blue, four door sedan with two different license plates pulled up. The front one was LD79IND, but the back one was GB05SJA." Emma noticed that Lestrade had come up to them and without a word had taken a seat and was writing the important information down. "Two men jumped out of the car, but the driver stayed in the car with the engine running. The first guy grabbed me by my upper arm," she grabbed the place he had touched her, "and tried to drag me into the car." She looked at John, "Mary tried to stop him, but the other guy…" She hesitated and Sherlock cover her hand with his.

"Go on Emma."

Another breath and she rushed though this, "He hit her in the face, pushed her to the ground, and tried to kick her in the stomach but she managed to roll onto her side and he got her in the back."

John was breathing hard, and Emma could see his hands were shaking worse then hers where. "I'm going to kill them," he whispered. "I'm going to find them and kill them." He was looking at his feet, with his hands holding the sides of his head, trying hard to control his breathing

Emma stopped her story, there was one detail she wasn't sure if she should tell him yet. Then she thought, _what if it were someone I cared for_. Her eyes flicked to Sherlock and made her decision. "You won't have to look for them John. I know where they are."

Lestrade had stop taking notes, "Emma no."

"He has a right to know." Emma said, looking at Lestrade. "They attacked his wife, and may have hurt his unborn daughter." She returned her eyes to John, "They're here in the hospital."

John got to his feet, "Where?" he demanded.

Emma smirked, "I put them both in the Intensive Care Unit."

It took a second for John to register what Emma was saying to him. The men who attacked his wife and might have injured his daughter were here, in this hospital somewhere. He got to his feet, "You? You managed to put them in the ICU?" Emma could tell he didn't believe her, but she nodded.

"John," Sherlock said, again very calm. "Sit down and let her finish." There was a slight upturn in the corner of his mouth. Was he actually impressed.

John did as requested, then nodded for Emma to continue.

"After that," she didn't want to repeat what had happened to Mary.

* * *

 _Emma watched in horror as Goon Two brought his foot to kick the already not moving Mary. She lost it._

 _Pivoting on her left foot, Emma twisted into Goon One, while jabbing her right fist into his throat. Still the man did not let her go, so she grabbed the back of his head, entwined her fingers into his hair and jerked it down, while bringing her knee to his face, twice. He released her, grabbing for his nose and going to his knees. While he was bent over Emma brought her right elbow down hard onto the back of his neck. He went down with a broken nose and one hell of a sore neck._

 _Noticing movement out of the corner of her eye, Emma whipped her whole body towards Goon Two, noticing a syringe in his right hand. Ignoring everything else, she stepped up to him, and using her right forearm she knocked his right hand away, causing him to drop the needle, while spinning, putting her back to him. She back fisted his nose, then reached up and behind her for his neck, easily pulling his, no doubt dizzy head, to her shoulder. Using her hip as a pivot point, Emma stepped forward, flipping him over her shoulder. He landed on his back, putting his face next to her foot, so she heel kick him in his already broken nose. If he didn't have one before, he certainly had one now, along with fractures on his skull and a concussion._

 _Emma turned to check on the first goon and see's he is trying to get back on his feet. She notices someone has left an umbrella, so stepping over the first goon she grabbed it with her right hand. Using the hook of the umbrella, Emma hit Goon One once on the right side of his head and twice on the left, before bringing it down on the top of his head. He will not be getting up from that anytime soon._

 _Goon Two is on his feet but sees that Emma has a weapon and does not charge her. Emma hopes he will realize he is out matched and leave, but somehow she knows he won't. She circles him, he is taller and stronger and she knows she needs to wait for him to attack first. No matter what he has to make the first move. He doesn't disappoint. Using his left forearm to try and block the umbrella, he comes at her swinging. Emma tosses the umbrella up into the air and for a millisecond Goon Two takes his eyes off her to follow it. That is all the distraction she needs. Ducking under the swing Emma puts her right hand on the ground, flipping her left leg up, connecting with his face. There is a small grunt and Emma straightens up, sees the goon is still on his feet and pivots on her left leg and roundhouse's him on the right side of his face. He goes down, as does the umbrella and without thinking Emma catches it, and hooks his leg with it. Pulling his leg up, she stomps on his calf earning a very satisfying crunch from his leg and a scream of agony from his mouth. But Emma isn't done._

 _In all this Mary hasn't moved and Emma walks around Goon Two, in an attempt to check on her. Goon Two just doesn't know when to quit, he tries to grab her ankle. She is beyond annoyed, she is pissed. Jerking her leg free, Emma brings her foot down hard on the mans wrist, another crunch and another scream. Using the hook of the umbrella she swings it one final time at the guys' head, committing her entire body to the swing. He doesn't move after that._

 _Emma takes in her surroundings, looking for any more threats. A small crowed has gathered. A few mobiles are trained on her, most likely recording, but there is no sign of the blue sedan. One less thing to worry about._

* * *

All three men sit in stunned silence.

"Holy Shit," Lestrade commented, once he found his voice. "You did that with one arm in a sling?"

Emma nodded, "I'm right handed and when I saw that man about to kick Mary again, I lost it." The shaking in her hands never stopped through the entire story, in fact by the time she was done, her whole body was shaking. "I don't know how, but I knew what to do."

Sherlock was actually smiling, "Well, we were wrong about you not being professionally trained."

Emma didn't say anything, just kept watching John. He wasn't saying anything, just staring at her. Lestrade was in disbelief over what she had done to the goons, Sherlock was impressed, but Emma couldn't tell what John was thinking. She was so worried he would be mad at her. Mad at her for putting his wife and daughter in danger like that. "John? Say something."

He slowly got to his feet, "Thank you." The calmness was still in his voice but it sounded grateful.

Emma's body stopping shaking, he wasn't mad at her.

Doctor Parry came through a set of double doors. She scanned to room, saw John and called to him, "Mr. Watson?"

John spun around, "Here."

Walking over to them Emma noticed Dr. Parry was smiling a little, "Mary is doing fine. She has a bruise to her face and her ribs will be sore, but nothing is broken."

Emma could feel relief flood the room, not just from John but Sherlock and Lestrade. "And the baby?" she asked stepping forward.

Another smile, "She is also just fine. It was smart of Mary to take the kick to her back." John nodded, but didn't say much else.

"I am letting you know, Mary started having contractions but they stopped on their own. So we would like for her to stay in the hospital until she delivers. It should be any day now."

Again John nodded, "Can I see her?"

Dr. Parry nodded, "She is asking for you , Emma and him," she pointed to Sherlock. Just follow me."


	5. Chapter 5

_**The song Emma plays on the violin is The Last Goodbye, from the Hobbit.**_

 _ **I happened to be listening to Taylor Davis play it on the violin when I wrote this chapter. That and with Martin and Benedict being the movie, I found it fitting.**_

 _ **Also, Red Chapter Clothing is a real website. Here is the link:**_ _ **. And finally, Thank you for understanding why I re-did the chapter.**_

 **I Am. . .**

 _ **Chapter 5**_

 _ **Bored**_

Mary was propped up on four pillows, waiting for them. She was all smiles even with a nasty looking bruise on the left side of her cheek. John was at her side, with his hand on her belly, instantly.

Emma let Sherlock and Lestrade go in first, then hung out just inside the door.

"I'm fine John," Mary was saying to her husband. "Really, we both are. Just a little bump."

When John reached up to lightly touch the side of Mary's face, Emma left the room to stand on the other side of the door frame. Her stomach dropped when she thought about what could have happened to Mary and the baby. Her stomach dropped even further when she realized she was the cause of it. Emma slid down the wall, wrapped her right arm around her knees, and laid her head on her forearm.

She hadn't known this woman more than two days, and already Emma had nearly gotten not just Mary, but her unborn baby hurt. ' _Maybe_ _staying with Sherlock,'_ she thought, ' _was a bad idea.'_

Emma wasn't really paying attention to what was being said in the room, until she heard the phrase, "When I saw that man grab her, I just lost it." Snapping her head up, Emma twisted to peer into the door. Those were the same words she had said to John and Sherlock about seeing goon two about to kick Mary. It was odd to hear Mary saying those same words about her.

"Emma," Mary was asking, seeing her head peeking around the door jam, "what are you doing out there?" She waved her hand, gesturing for Emma to come back in.

Emma, however, didn't move. Sherlock brushed passed Lestrade went over to her, taking her gently by the right arm and pulling her to her feet. She didn't protest or say a word, as he guided her to Mary's bedside. Mary patted the small space on the bed, but Emma shook her head no. "I'm the reason you're here," Emma whispered softly. She refused to look at anybody in the room, including Mary. Her eyes were starting to sting, but she fought them back.

She felt Mary take her hand, and pull her down towards the bed. So it was either sit on the bed, or lay on top of a very pregnant woman. "It wasn't your fault honey." Mary was using her thumb to rub small circles on the back of Emma's hand. "You not only save me, but protected my daughter."

Emma didn't want to get into it with a pregnant woman, especially one who was just attacked, so she smiled slightly and nodded her head.

Luckily for Emma one of the nurses walked in, "I'm sorry but visiting hours are ending." She nodded to John, "You are welcome to stay with her, but your friends will have to leave."

Lestrade, Sherlock and Emma filed out. Without a word Sherlock started walking away from the group "Lestrade, could you take Emma back to the flat," he tossed over his shoulder. " I have something I need to do."

Lestrade gestured for Emma to stay put, then jogged to catch up with Sherlock. Emma watched as the two seemed to have a heated discussion. Well, Sherlock didn't seem to be getting upset, but Lestrade seemed to be turning an interesting shade of red.

After a few minutes, Sherlock walked off and Lestrade returned to Emma. "What was that about," she asked.

"Nothing," Lestrade clipped out. "I was just making sure Sherlock wasn't going to do anything stupid."

They started towards the exit. "What would Sherlock do that could be stupid?" Emma asked once they were outside.

"Well," Lestrade said as he opened his car door, "thanks to you, he knows the men who attacked you and Mary are in the hospital. I was making sure he wasn't going to do something stupid, like go after them."

Lestrade waited for Emma to climb in the car. "Would he really do that?" Emma asked as he pulled away from the curb.

He nodded, "There's a lot about Sherlock you don't know Emma. He once threw a man out a window, multiple times, for hurting Mrs. Hudson."

Emma was quiet, if Lestrade thought what Sherlock had done for a friend was bad, what must he think of her sending two men to the ICU.

The drive back to Baker street was quiet after that. Emma got out of the car without waiting for Lestrade. She wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Lestrade," she started when she noticed he was getting out of the car as well, "please don't. I just… Well I just some time to think."

He gave her a questionable look, "Tell me you're not blaming yourself for what happened."

She shook her head, "No. But if I hadn't been with Mary, she wouldn't have been hurt."

Closing the distance between them, Lestrade placed a gentle hand on Emma's shoulder. "That's not your fault."

"I know," she told him without looking at him. "But it isn't just that. Well… I need to process what I did, and all that." She was referring to the men now in the ICU.

Lestrade nodded, then motioned to the stoop, were the packages from the shopping trip sat. "Don't forget to take your stuff inside. There'll be an officer making the rounds."

Emma nodded and gathered up the three bags. She wasn't as excited as when she had first received them. "Thank you."

Once the door was closed, Emma called out to Mrs. Hudson. There wasn't a response, so Emma walked over to her door to knock. "Mrs. Hudson," she called through the door. There was still no answer, and Emma was bummed. She wanted to talk to her about the 'guy out the window' incident.

Heading up to the flat Emma realized something, with Sherlock still at the hospital, doing who knows what, and John staying the night at the hospital with Mary, she had the whole flat to herself. She dropped the bags off in her room then headed back into the living room.

The events of the day still weighed on her mind. What she had done to those two men hadn't taken any real thought on her part, she has simply reacted. "Who knows what else my muscles might remember." She glanced around the flat, looking for nothing in particular. Her eyes fell on Sherlock's violin. She walked over, picked it up and mimicked the way she had seen Sherlock hold it. She stood like that for a moment, not focusing on anything, just letting her mind wander.

A tune sounded in her head, one she had no name for. Picking the notes carefully, Emma let her fingers acclimate to the feel of the stings under her tips. The bow seemed to move on its own, finding the right flow and rhythm without Emma thinking about it. The song started out slow and she hit more sour notes then she cared to admit, but the longer Emma played, the more natural it sounded.

The words were the next thing to come to her.

 _Many places I have been/ Many sorrows I have seen/ But I don't regret/ Nor will I forget/ All who took that road with me._

Again that nagging question of ' _How can I know a song I don't remember learning_?' She quickly pushed that thought away and focused on the violin and the words of the song coming into her mind.

 _Over hill, and under tree/ Through lands where never light has shone/ By silver streams that run down to the sea._

 _To these memories I will hold/ With your blessing I will go/ To turn at last to paths that lead home._

'Great,' she thought. 'A song about not forgetting, how fitting.'

 _And though where the road then takes me/ I cannot tell/ We came all this way/ But now comes the day/ To bid you farewell/ I bid you all a very fond farewell_

Emma let the last not ring out, enjoying the fact that not only is she able to play the violin, but she was pretty damn good at it.

"I figured it wasn't Sherlock playing," a voice said from behind her. She spun around to her left, the back of the violin knocking over the music stand. The home made sheet music went flying, but she ignored it and focused on the man standing in the doorway.

* * *

Sherlock sat at his usual perch, when Molly walked into the lab. She was carrying a clear plastic baggy, sealed with a red Evidence tape across the top, in one hand and a manila envelope in the other. "I just got Langley's CS report back," she set the envelope next to him. "He asked me to tell you good luck. He couldn't find anything to tell him who Emma really is."

"That is because Ivan is a moron," Sherlock replied without looking up.

Molly could only nod in agreement. Ivan Langley had taken over Anderson's position as Chief Forensic Officer. She believed Sherlock and Langley hated each other worse then he and Anderson ever had. "Well, if there isn't anything else," she set the bag, which contained the cloths Emma had been found in, next to the report. Emma's shoes were sitting in a tray on the other side of Sherlock.

"Take a look at this," Sherlock said to Molly as he got up and headed to the far bookcase, "tell me what you see."

* * *

The man's brown hair was receding, and parted to one side. The dove gray suit matched his dark blue tie, the only other splash of color being the red handkerchief, sticking out of his left breast pocket. He was carrying an umbrella, but kept it in his right hand.

"You play with emotion," he walked into the living room, and Emma took an unconscious step backwards. "Sherlock only plays the notes."

"Then you haven't listened to him play properly," Emma countered. She set the violin down, but kept the bow in her right hand. Against an umbrella there wouldn't be much she could do with it, but judging from his stance this man was no fighter.

The man said nothing as he took the chair to Emma's right, John's usual perch. "Well, music is very subjective."

Emma stared at the man, "And you're being dismissive. Is there something I can help you with?" She held the bow in front of her, and balanced on the balls of her feet. If this guy was connected to whoever had attacked her and Mary, he was in for a rude awaking.

He didn't say a thing, just stared at Emma, as if waiting for something. She moved closer to the opposite chair, it gave her a better view of the door. They stood at an impasse for two minutes.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes," he finally said. "Sherlock is my brother."

* * *

Molly hated this, because no matter what she said she saw it was always wrong. But not wanting to disappoint, she glanced into the microscope. "They look like metal shavings," she said , adjusting the view. There were four or five silver flakes, but other then that Molly couldn't tell what they really were. "They look like when my father would sharpen his butcher knife."

Sherlock was standing beside her with a look of shock on his face, "Actually you are not that far off." He set the book he had retrieved down and Molly noticed the title.

"'England's Industrial Revolution'," Molly read out loud.

Sherlock ripped open the bag containing Emma's cloths, "Yes, those shavings were embedded in Emma's shoelaces" He pulled out the socks, and the dark blue shirt. "But there were none anywhere else." He spread out the shirt.

The design on the front of the shirt caught Moll's attention. "Do you know what that says?" she asked pointing to the front of the shirt.

* * *

Emma did not relax, she could call herself the Queen of England didn't mean she was. "Prove it?" she demanded.

Mycroft stood up and walked around her. She sucked in a deep breath. Once he was finished with the walk, he returned to the chair, "You are from California, but have lived in London for four years given the accent. You have studied multiple forms of self-defense since the age of four. You have broken your right ankle no less the three times. You spend most of your time in front of a computer, I would go so far as to say it is a heavy part of your job." He crossed his legs and leaned back into the chair, "You are an only child, and have spent time in the American foster care system."

In the back of her mind Emma was laughing, there was no way she could prove or disprove anything he had said. The self defense and the foster care were things Sherlock had told her. She kept her face straight, "Sherlock said I've lived here three years, not four." She turned her back to him and set the bow next to the violin, before returning to the chair across from him. .

"Your turn," she heard Mycroft say. "What can you tell about me."

Emma spun around, "Excuse me?" Was he for real? "Deducing things about people, isn't something I do."

Mycroft shrugged, "How would you know."

"I'm not playing," she told him, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the chair.

"Oh come one," he goateed with s smile, that reminded her of Sherlock. "It'll be fun."

"Alright then," Emma narrowed her eyes and took her time. "You said you're Sherlock's brother. You didn't mention that you are his older brother." She cocked her head to the side, "by about six to seven years. Unlike Sherlock, you fake being normal better then he does, because you care how people see you." Emma stopped. Mycroft's face should have been unreadable but now that she was on a role, she could read it perfectly.

"Don't get me wrong," she continued before he could interrupt her, "you don't care what people think of you. You only care how they see you. You are highly intelligent, self confident, and hold yourself higher then your brother. Basically you are an arrogant ass." She waited a few seconds, then asked, "That about cover it?"

* * *

Sherlock spared a moment to glance at the front of the shirt, then returned his attention to the sleeves, "It's just a design Molly."

"No," she actually moved Sherlock out of her way, and turned the shirt on it's side. "It's an ambigram," she traced the design with her finger. "It says Rock this way," she flipped the shirt, "and Angel this way." Cocking his head from one angle to the other, Sherlock wanted to kick himself for missing that. But Molly wasn't done, she flipped to the collar of the shirt. "I know this website," she told him pointing to the inside. "It's Red Chapter Clothing."

Sherlock gave Molly a baffled look. She smiled sheepishly at him, "Tom was into Marvel, so I ordered him a Doctor Strange shirt." She could see the confusion in Sherlock's eyes, "It was before we broke it off."

* * *

Mycroft sat there for a moment. "Yes, well," he got to his feet. "I do not think I am arrogant."

A saying popped into Emma's head, "Just because you have a high opinion of yourself, and a low opinion of others, that doesn't make you arrogant?" Emma snapped her fingers, "Oh wait a minute! Yes, it does." She smiled at him. "Although I will give you kudos. You argued the arrogant part but not the ass."

There was complete silence as Mycroft's face twitched. "Guess you are not a normal goldfish."

Emma didn't get the goldfish reference, "So back to my earlier question. What do you want?"

"I was checking on my brother's latest case," he told her. "Sherlock does like to get into trouble and I do worry."

"I find that hard to belie..OW!" Something hit Emma in the back of her left shoulder. It felt like a bee sting. She reached with her right hand and felt something sticking out of her shoulder, she jerked it out. "That can't be good."


	6. Chapter 6

**I Am. . .**

 _ **Chapter 6**_

 _ **Why is a Raven Like A Writing Desk**_

Sherlock took a closer look at Emma's shirt collar, "Of course, why did I not think of that before." He stood up, grabbed his coat, scarf and reached for his mobile. He was halfway to the door before he spun around. He walked over and kissed Molly lightly on the cheek, "Thank you Molly."

Molly stood there for a moment after Sherlock had left, holding the cheek he had kissed, with a smile, "You're welcome."

Halfway to the elevator, Sherlock started to dial his brother's number. After three rings it went to voice mail. "Damn it!" he shouted as he got on the elevator.

When Sherlock couldn't get a hold of Mycroft, he called John. It took four rings for him to answer. "What Sherlock?" He sounded annoyed.

"I need you to call Mycroft," he said as he exited the hospital. "He's ignoring me. Also, give Mary a kiss and head back to the flat," he hailed a cab. "I need you to get on your laptop."

"What are you talking about, my laptop is at my place."

A cab pulled up to the curb, "Yes, I may have nicked it last time I was there." He hung up and got into the cab.

All the way to his flat, Sherlock tried to get a hold of Mycroft. The collar on Emma's shirt had said 'Made in L.A., California.' He was still kicking himself for not thinking of this before. If Emma was an American, like her accent and now her shirt, suggested, then Mycroft could run a facial recognition against all passport photo's. Of course that was assuming Mycroft would answer his damn mobile.

Once the cabbie pulled on to Baker street, Sherlock could see his brother's assistant, Andrea, pacing back and forth in front of his flat. She was on her mobile and seemed distressed.

He was out of the cab before it came to a complete stop. There's not a lot of things that could cause Andrea to become concerned, so when she was upset, there was a good reason. "Where's Mycroft?" he asked the moment she saw him.

Andrea was still on her mobile and held up a hand. Sherlock rolled his eyes, grabbed her mobile and flipped it shut. "My brother. Where is he?"

"I don't know," she told him, grabbing back her phone "He was dropped of at your flat and gave instructions to be picked up in ten minutes."

Sherlock looked quickly to his door. The knocker was straighten, so he knew Mycroft had at least been there. "How long?" he asked as he opened the door, and entered.

"He was suppose to be picked up twenty minutes ago," she informed him as she followed him in.

Mrs. Hudson was just coming out of her flat. "Sherlock," she sounded distressed. "What is going on?"

He didn't stop to explain, just bolted up the stairs. His door was opened and his eyes immediately fell on the scattered music sheets and the moved violin. He logged them away, and continued to scan the room.

The table next to John's chair was over turned, no doubt from someone falling onto it. There was a few drops of blood next to the table, but it was the blood pool in front of his own chair, the size of tea plate, that had Sherlock's attention. "Both of you shut up," were the only words Sherlock spared the two women standing in the doorway, before focusing his entire mind on the scene in front of him. Neither Andrea, nor Mrs. Hudson had said a thing. For once Andrea was not on her mobile, it was clasped in her hands.

Sherlock hunched down and concentrated on the site in front of him. He noted the size of the blood pool, how congealed it was, and how the blood had fallen. He stood up, sizing up the information he had just collected, when he felt a small breeze on the back of his neck.

He turned to the window and became aware of the curtain's slightly fluttering. He rushed past the women, still in the doorway, jerked the curtain aside, and noticed the small hole in the window. It was too small for an ordinary gun and he was stumped for all of two seconds.

"Where is it?" he asked no one in particular, as he spun in a circle, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"Where's what?" A new voice forced him pull his eyes off the floor.

"When did you get here John?"

"About thirty seconds ago." John entered the room, moving past Andrea and Mrs. Hudson and quickly examined the room. "What happened? Where's Emma?"

"Taken," Sherlock informed him, but kept looking at the floor.

It took John a moment to realize what Sherlock had just said. "You think it was the same people from this morning?"

Sherlock was on his hands and knees scouring the floors, "Obviously. Only this time my brother gets caught in the middle. Now where the hell is it?"

John could see nothing unusual anywhere on the floor, but that didn't mean anything. "Maybe if you tell me what we are looking for, I could help…"

"Found It!" He called out, pulling his hand out from under John's chair. In it was a small cylindrical shaped tube, about the size of a bullet casing. The end was tipped off with a dark brown fletch, the other end an eleven gage needle. "This is how they subdued her." He pointed to the window, "Shot her through the window, while she stood facing Mycroft." He sniffed the tip of the dart, "A combination of Ketamine, diazepam, and Midazolam."

John didn't question him on how he could tell that, just took Sherlock at his word. "With that combination, Emma would have been out cold before she hit the floor."

Sherlock pointed to the over turned side table and the small drops of blood, "No doubt she hit the table on the way down." He moved to the desk by the window, set the dart on it and returned to stand by his chair.

"If they drugged Emma, what happened to Mycroft?" John asked, picking up the dart. "Was he drugged as well?"

Pointing at the blood pool, Sherlock shook his head, "No."

Emma could hear her name being called, but no matter how hard she tried, her eyes refused to obey her. Something was digging into her wrists and her head was pounding.

"Emma!"

That annoying voice again. She knew who it belong to and wished she could blocked it out, but if she did she might never open her eyes again.

"I'm here," she huffed out, eyes still closed. "Now please stop yelling my name." If Emma wasn't mistaken there was a sigh of relief.

When she was finally able to get her eyes opened, they first fell on her left wrist, which was zip-tied to the arm of metal chair. She must have been struggling while she was unconscious, because they were digging pretty badly into her wrists. They were not actively bleeding, but pretty close. Her head was still incredible fuzzy and her eyelids did not want to stay open for long, much less able to stay focused for long.

"Emma?

Taking her eyes off her wrist, she looked to the voice. Mycroft sat opposite her. "You look like shit," she commented. He really did. His left eye was swollen shut, there was dripping blood into his right eye from a ugly looking gash and left his upper arm…

"You were shot?" Emma asked nodding her head towards his arm.

"Very observant," his response was nothing but sarcasm.

Emma tried to straighten up in the chair, but all that accomplished was digging the ties deeper into her wrists. "Nice to know you can still be condescending while you bleed out."

"It's just a graze," Mycroft tried to make his voice sound stronger, but it didn't help, Emma could see how pale he was.

"How long," she asked.

"Two hours, give or take thirty seconds."

Emma took in her surroundings. They were in a filthy hospital room, she had seen enough of them these past four days. Garbage littered the floor and the windows were boarded, and the walls were covered in graffiti, most likely the whole building was abandoned. While she was facing the only door to the room, Mycroft had his back to the door.

"Where do you think they brought us?"

Mycroft raised his good eyebrow, "Where do you think?"

Emma really didn't want to play his game, but she knew if she didn't answer, he would just goat her into playing along, like he did back at the flat.

Pushing her pounding headache to the back of her mind, she tried to focus. "An abandon hospital."

"There are many of those in England, narrow it down."

Another glance around the room and little things started to jump out at her. Under the graffiti, Emma could make out murals painted on the walls. Too childish for anything other then a kids room. In the corner were the pieces of little plastic toys. Her mind was becoming clearer. In a two hour radius of Baker street there were seven hospitals that had been abandoned, but only two of them treated children. St. Sebastian's Children's Hospital was the furthest one.

"St Sebastian's Childrens Hospital. Is that narrow enough?"

"Why do you say Sebastian's?"

Emma sighed, she was not about to admit she guessed, "It's the furthest one and bad guys like to be as far away from the good guys."

A moments pause and Mycroft stated, "You guessed, didn't you?"

Emma just smirked.

A young man wearing a dove gray suit walked into the room.

"Oh good," He said smiling at Emma. "You're awake." His black hair was disheveled, but in a deliberate way. He adjusted his rectangular glasses as he walked towards her. His thin physique framed perfectly by the suit.

He patted Mycroft on his injured arm, "Yea sorry about this Mr. Holmes. I'll have someone come take a look at that." That was all he spared for Mycroft, then his entire focus was on Emma.

"Man, it is good to see you." He actually sounded happy to see her as he removed the blue scarf from around his neck, hunched down, and used it to wipe the dried blood from her forehead. "When I heard you were dead, I really was worried." His accent screamed British.

"Is this how you treat all your friends who come back from the dead?" Emma wasn't sure how to play this. Act like she knew who he was, or tell him she had no clue who he was suppose to be.

"Only the ones I don't trust," he answered, giving her a knowing look. He stood back up, "Besides, how was I suppose to treat you. You came into my home," he gestured to the room in general, "steal my things and think what, I should offer you tea and biscuits?" He shook his head, "No, this is how I treat friends who steal from me. Now, where is Serenity?"

So much for pretending like she knew him, "What?"

The facade of caring dropped and he back handed her. "Serenity, Raven!" He grabbed her shoulders roughly, his finger tips digging painfully into her shoulders. "Where is it!"

The headache from when she first opened her eyes was back with a vengeance, the entire left side of her face was on fire, and her vision didn't just blur, it went black for a second. Emma was so focused on not loosing consciousness that she nearly missed the fact that he had called her Raven. But Mycroft didn't.

"Her name is Raven." It was a statement not a question.

This seemed to stop the man in his tracks. His attention turned to Mycroft, "Why? What did she tell you it was?"

Mycroft shrugged his good arm, "She has no idea what it is. My brother chose the name Emma out of a hospital directory."

"Actually," Emma chimed in, "it was a phonebook." She chose not to comment on the fact that Mycroft should not have known that .

"Yes, of course," he nodded his thanks. "So you see, she has no idea what you are asking about." It was like he was discussing this whole situation over afternoon tea.

Disbelief crossed the man's face. "You see," he shook his finger at Mycroft, "that is just the kind of thing she would come up with." His green eyes fell on Emma, "You couldn't come up with anything better then amnesia? You are slipping Raven."

"He's telling you the truth," Emma told him, pulling on her wrists. "Everything before four days ago is a complete blank."

He snickered, "For both your sakes', you'd better be wrong." He left the room and Emma sighed.

They sat like that for a moment before Mycroft asked, "How is your face?"

Emma gave him a half smile, "Why Mr. Holmes, I didn't know you cared." She sighed, "It feels like its on fire."

A few more moments passed before Emma had to ask, "Okay I have to ask, how did you know how Sherlock chose my name?"

A crooked grin appeared on Mycroft's lips, "I am smarter them my dear brother." Emma found that hard to believe but said nothing. "So," he continued, "Raven huh."

She repeated her name over and over in her head, _Raven, Raven, Raven, Raven._ But just like the ring and necklace, it felt hollow. "It doesn't feel like me."

"And Emma does?"

"I have emotions, memories, and feelings with Emma, but Raven," she shook her head. "I get nothing. Besides," she finally said, "he could be lying."

Mycroft chuckled, "But he isn't."

Lestrade didn't even bother to call the CS boys to 221B Baker street. Other then annoy Sherlock, there would have been nothing they could have done for him that Sherlock hadn't already done.

It did surprise him that Sherlock wasn't upset with Lestrade, after all he was the one who had left Emma alone in the flat. In fact when Lestrade had tried to apologize, Sherlock had waved him off and turned his attention back to the scene.

"So we know that Emma and Mycroft were taken," Lestrade confirmed, "most likely by the same blokes who ordered the attack on her this morning. Emma was drugged, Mycroft shot…"

"Grazed," Sherlock interrupted. "Mycroft was grazed." He pointed to the bullet hole next to the bookcase by the window. "The men were not expecting him to be here, which is why they missed. They were surprised when the came to collect Emma."

"How," John started to ask, but Sherlock beat him to it.

"How do I know it isn't from one of my boredom fits?" He pointed to the wall with the smiley face, "I tend to group all my shots together. And this one," back to the window, "is from a Colt M19, not a P22." He looked at the gathered group, "Any other questions?" No one said a word, "Good, moving on."

"So Emma was up here, alone." He moved to the window, pointed to his violin, "She was playing when Mycroft entered, he startles her," he spun around quick, "knocking the music stand over. Mycroft enters, Emma sets the violin down, but keeps the bow in her hand."

John was about to ask how he knew she kept the bow but Sherlock was anticipating that. "She is confronted by a man she doesn't know, right after being attacked, she would want some kind of weapon. The bow is the only thing close at hand." John nodded for him to continue. "Mycroft obviously convinces her he is my brother and Emma returns the bow to the violin. Emma is then shot, drugged and falls. Sherlock began re-enacting the scene for everyone. "Mycroft moves to assist, and is surprised by the two men who come to collect Emma. He is grazed and both taken." He stands up and moves to the door, keeping his eyes on the ground. "Emma is carried out, while Mycroft walks out."

"So why take Mycroft?" Lestrade asked. "Why not leave him here and just take Emma?"

"Time and information." Sherlock informed him. "They couldn't risk leaving him here to raise the alarm or give any information he would have picked up on." He looked to Andrea who had been seated on the couch. "You said Mycroft was to be picked up in ten minutes?" She nodded. "And twenty minutes after that deadline is when I arrived. Were you on time?" Again she nodded. Sherlock did a quick calculation in his head, going off when Lestrade dropped off Emma to when Mycroft arrived. "So in a matter of seven minutes, they manage to drug Emma, incapacitate Mycroft and walk right out of here. They were defiantly on a time table."

Lestrade had been following Sherlock up to that point, "But how does all that help us find Emma and your brother."

Sherlock looked shocked, "Oh, it doesn't." His phone started to ring and rather then keep talking to Lestrade he answered. "What Molly?"

"Those metal shavings, I figured out where they are from."


	7. Chapter 7

**I Am. . .**

 _ **Chapter 7**_

 _ **Final Wish**_

Sherlock was flabbergasted for a moment. Molly had just said she figured out something before him. ' _That's not possible,_ " he thought. Molly wasn't an idiot, well by his standards everyone was a moron, but for her to come up with an answer before him, just showed how distracted he really was.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you there?" He could hear Molly's voice calling.

"Yes, of course I am," he snapped. "What did you find?"

"Well, I remember you pulling the book, 'England's Industrial Revelation' and it got me thinking, ' _Steel warehouses aren't the only place for shavings like these_.' I figured since you were looking into the steel warehouse aspect, I could help by looking…"

"Molly," Sherlock interrupted, "you are babbling. Get on with it."

"Yes, of course, sorry," Molly apologized. "The flakes are from a hospital, most likely an abandoned one."

For the first time, Sherlock knew how everyone else felt when he would make his deductions with no explanation of how he arrived at those conclusions.

"Would you like to know how I figured it out?"

Sherlock could tell she really wanted him to say yes. "Nope," he said, popping the P. He hung up on her and turned his attention back to Lestrade.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said as he stuffed his phone into this coat pocket, "you can take it from here." He gave a curt nod and headed for the stairs.

"Wait a minute, Sherlock!" John's confusion stopped him, as did Lestrade's hand on his upper arm.

"What?" Sherlock asked, jerking his arm away from Lestrade.

"Your brother is missing." John pointed to the blood, "There's evidence that he's been shot…"

"Grazed," Sherlock interrupted.

John was about to lose his temper with his best friend. "Emma' gone and we have no idea who took her or where they are."

Sherlock pulled his phone back out with a roll of his eyes. He started typing, thinking to himself, ' _Sometimes being the smartest person in the room is so taxing_.' "Give me a moment."

Andrea held out her phone to Sherlock, "You have two options. St. Jude's Psychiatric or St. Sebastian's Children's." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. "I overheard what Molly said, and while you three were arguing with each other, I looked up abandoned hospitals. St Jude's and St Sebastian's are the only two within your time window."

If her wrists were hurting her before, they were killing her now. No matter how hard she tried, any little movement would cause the zip ties to cut into her already emaciated writs.

It didn't help that every now and then their host, who finally introduced himself as Zack Kovack, would come in and ask, "Where is Serenity, Raven?" To which Emma always answered, "I don't know." Three or four hits late er, he tended to favor her face, he would walk out.

After the last song and dance Mycroft sighed, "This is getting him nowhere."

Emma really, really wished she could hit Mycroft. "Just be glad," she told him spitting out blood, "it's not your face he is using as a punching bag." She took in a ragged breath. It hurt when she breathed, or moved, or hell even thought. "Mycroft, I don't know how much more I can take." She fought back the tears threatening to spill, but her checks and lips were split open and tears would only cause more pain.

Mycroft actually chuckled at her. "Sorry Emma, but unless you suddenly remember what this Serenity is, you don't have a choice but to take it. Or are you going to do the American thing and give up?"

"Typical Brit," she mumbled. "Can't think of something intelligent, so you pull the Yank card."

Zack walked back in, earlier than normally. He wasn't alone this time, a burly looking man was with him, carrying a black medical looking bag. "Well Raven, I was hoping not to have to do this, but you are not leaving me any choice." He nodded to the other man, "This is Hugo and he is going to give you something to 'jog' your memory."

Hugo had set the bag down and was taking something out. When he turned towards Emma she got a good look at what was in his hand. An old fashion glass syringe, filled a third of the way with gold liquid. "Don't worry dear," he tried to reassure her, she placed his accent somewhere in Germany. "It only burns for a moment."

Zack held her arm still, which was unnecessary, it hurt too much when Emma moved it. She did turn away, but felt it puncture her arm and then the burning, which wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. "You didn't swab that with alcohol."

The flipped remark earned her a smack to the back of her head.

Oh boy could she feel the stuff hitting her system. Her eyes were going blurry, all the sound in the room sounded like it was coming from a long tunnel and her brain felt fluffy. "Am I 'posed to 'mell wet dog?" she asked slurring her words. The only good thing about that gold liquid was her head and wrists stopped hurting.

The smile on Zack's face reminded her of the Cheshire cat, "That means it is working. Let us start simple," he stated setting a chair in front of her. "Tell me your name."

Emma tried to think, "I don't know." She nodded towards Mycroft, "His brother named me Emma, but you call me Raven."

This was clearly not what he was hoping for. "Where did we meet?"

There were little tiny clouds floating across her vision, "Here." Something knocked into the side of her head and she felt her head snap to the right, but no pain. "I don't know then."

"Hugo," Zack was saying, "it is not working."

"More time," Hugo started to say, but Zack waved his hand, disturbing the little clouds, sending them everywhere.

"Time is not something I have. Give her another dose."

Emma let her head fall forward, and actually watched the needle enter her arm. It wasn't gold liquid that entered her arm this time. It was pink little clouds, with black dogs on them. "Pretty," she mumbled.

"Raven," Zack stated grabbing her face in his hands. "Where is Serenity?"

 _Serenity,_ Emma thought, _am I supposed to know that._ A tune started in her head and Emma began to hum it.

Zack must have recognized the tune because his face lite up, "That is right Raven. Now where is it?"

"You can't take the sky from me," she hummed out.

Another slap, jerking her head to the right again, "Raven! Where Is Serenity?!" Zack's screaming made the little pink clouds turn black and the dogs disappear completely.

"I 'on't know." Emma slurred out. Everything in the room was one big gray blur. The clouds were gone now, and the only thing Emma could make out were the gray blurs moving about.

Mycroft was getting worried. Emma's eyes were completely dilated, her breathing was slowing as was her heart. He could barely make out the thumping in her carotid artery. But still Mr. Kovack was demanding another dose of whatever they had given her.

"Mr. Kovack," Mycroft was saying in his best diplomatic voice, "I don't know what is in that, but if you continue to give her more, you are going to kill her."

Zack's response to that had been to hit him in the gut, "Shut it."

Hugo took him aside and warn him as well. "Boss, that much Golden Rule in her system and she still won't tell us where Serenity is, maybe she's telling the truth." He cast a glance at the girl slumped over in the chair. "We kill her and we'll never find it."

Zack Kovack refused to believe that Raven just happened to lose her memory right after stealing Serenity, and shook his head. "You do not know Raven Adler," he hissed, "the way I do. She stole the thumb drive, and has hidden it somewhere. You realize that if we do not find it, he will kill us. It will take me a year to redo the program." He shook his head and grabbed the bottle of Golden Rule. "Another dose," he shoved it to Hugo. "Either you do it or I will."

Hugo sighed and took the bottle. Zack was a genius when it came to computer codes and what not, but he was going to kill this girl and they would be back at square one. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he mumbled under his breath as he injected another 10 mL of Golden Rule into her arm.

Their employer had given them the serum, saying it would force anyone, no matter how well-trained they were, to tell the truth. It was a unique combination of sodium Amytal, scopolamine, and morphine. The exact dosage was unknown to Hugo, but he was sure three injections within 15 minutes was not a good thing.

"There," Hugo said to Zack, "it's done." He turned and walked out, pausing just long enough to give Mycroft a sad look.

Mycroft kept his eyes on Emma. She had made no sound or movement during that last injection. This was not going to end well.

A little over three hours, that was how long Emma and Mycroft had been missing for, and they already had a reasonable location. Reasonable enough that Lestrade had pulled every available officer to Saint Sebastian's Children's Hospital.

Lestrade pulled up to the abandoned hospital, Sherlock and John had written with him, much to Donovan's dismay. While list drawn in Donovan organise their men for a full search of the building, Sherlock stood staring at the building.

"They're here, John." Sherlock stated.

John cast a glance of the building. There were busted windows, most of which headboards over them. The entire perimeter was surrounded by a chain link fence, with private property signs in keep out warnings. The whole building looked as if it could crumble in on itself. John could see no obvious signs that there was anything living in there, but then John wasn't Sherlock Holmes. He took his friend at his word.

"So where do we look?" John asked, itching to do something. "This is a big place, it could take hours to search."

Lestrade join them, "And who's to say they won't hear us and rabbit?"

"If everyone could shut up for a moment!" Sherlock screamed. He closed his eyes, going to his mind palace to go over the blueprints for the hospital.

 _Four stories, including basement. Abandoned in 1967. Roof accessible only from the fourth floor. Forty-two beds, all located on the third floor. Offices, 12, located on the second. Labs, ER, and Surgery all located on the top. Six possible exits, again including the two in the basement. Most likely Emma and Mycroft will be held on the third floor, easier to secure, front windows get better line of sight, corner room gets better access to fire escape._

Sherlock snapped his eyes open, "Third floor, room 1030. Best to gain access to the roof, then take the fire escape to the third floor. Least likely to be seen or heard ."

There was a slight pause from all the officers. Every single one of them had their eyes on Sherlock, but Lestrade clapped his hands to got their attention. He divided his men into two teams. Team Alpha would secure the grounds and all exits, Donavan would man team Alpha. Meanwhile, team Bravo would secure the roof and be headed up by Lestrade. This would give Sherlock and John a clear path to room 1030.

"And if they aren't there? " Donavan asked sarcastically. Nobody answered her, well nobody but Sherlock.

"Do shut up Sally." Everyone pretended not to hear him.

Hugo came rushing back into the room, "We've got company." He pointed to one of the boarded up windows.

Zach's sighed, but stood up from his spot in front of Raven. She hadn't been making any sense, alternating between humming the Firefly theme and the Hedwig's Theme from Harry Potter, he wasn't getting anything useful out of her. Hugo may have been right about that third dose, but he was not going to admit that.

He crossed behind her and pushed the loose bored out of the way. Six cop cars were outside, with a dozen or more officers. "How in the bloody hell?!"

Mycroft snickered, "You involved the Holmes."

Wishing he could ignore him, Zach left the window and walked out of the room with Hugo in tow.

Mycroft waited for a few moments, just to make sure they were gone. "Emma? " he called out to her. "I hope you can hear me. Help is coming, so hold on."

He watched as she tried to lift her head up, but only succeeded in getting it to flops backwards. A breath caught in his throat, he recognised this look. He had seen it once too many times with his younger brother. The older Holmes took a deep breath, "Please Emma, hang in there."

Mycroft sworn to himself he would never let Sherlocks succumb to a drug overdose, it was one reason they had agreed on "The List". Now he was being forced to watch a young girl, he barely knew, die right in front of him. At least with Sherlock, Mycroft knew it had been his little brother's choice. With Emma, she wasn't blet eing given that choice.

Emma was mumbling something and Mycroft had to strain his ears to make out what she was saying. If he had ever allowed emotion to rule him, Mycroft's heart would've broken when he realised what she was repeating over and over again.

"Don't let me die."


	8. Chapter 8

**I Am. . . .**

 _ **Chapter 8**_

 _ **Calvary**_

"Boss," Hugo started as he followed Zach to the second floor. "You need to leave."

Zack shook his head, "We need that thumb drive, or we are dead men."

"You get caught and I guarantee he'll kill you. However," he grabbed Zack's arm, "as long as you are useful to them, you have a chance."

"You mean us," Zack corrected.

Hugo shook his head, "You're the one they need; I'm expendable." He nodded to the exit, the only one not on any map, and the one reason this place was chosen. The exit lead to a tunnel that ran for a quarter of a mile south of the hospital. It ended at what use to be the barracks for the hospital staff.

It give Zack some credit, it took him four whole seconds before he scrammed towards the exit. Once he was out of sight Hugo bolted back upstairs, pausing to glance out one of the un-boarded windows. There were now only three officers. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. "Wait," he hissed before continuing to room 1030.

The girl was in worse condition then when he left and Mycroft wasn't looking to hot either. "I am so sorry Mycroft," Hugo said while flipping open his pocket knife.

Sherlock could hear receding footsteps, but just one set. A moment ago there had been two distinct foot falls. "John, one of the assailants has left."

"Leave him for Donavan," John whispered to him. They were currently waiting or hiding, depending on who you asked, in room 1010, which was three doors down from 1030.

A roll of his eyes, which John didn't see, and Sherlock returned focus to the door. The footsteps were completely gone. "Let's go."

The two of them left the room, Sherlock leading the way. They paused at the door to room 1030 and could hear two separate voices. "That's not going to work!" "I don't see you doing anything helpful!" That last voice belonged to Mycroft.

The scene that greeted both men when they entered the room gave them pause. Mycroft knelt over Emma, who was flat on her back and quiet honestly looked dead. He was performing chest compressions, while the other man in the room was tilting her head back. "If the two of you are done gawking," Mycroft's irritated voice broke through their initial shock. "We are in Need of your services Doctor."

John jolted out of his stupor, quickly switching to doctor mode.

"Start talking." John instructed both men, as he did a complete assessment of Emma, much in the same way Sherlock would perform his detections.

 _'Pulse: almost non-existent. Respirations: six breaths per minute and shallow. Lips tinged blue, due to poor oxygenation. Pupils dilated but reactive to light. Skin is clammy. All signs of a drug overdose, specifically morphine.'_

"What did he take," John asked without thinking, as Mycroft continued compressions.

"He?" Sherlock asked.

"She," John corrected himself. "What did she take?"

The man tilting Emma's head answered by holding out a small vile of gold color liquid. "Not sure of the exact milligrams for each, but it contains Sodium Amytal, Scopolamine and Morphine."

John looked about ready to explode at the man, "How much of that was she given?"

Hugo sighed, "Thirty cc's within as twenty minute period." He waited for the fireworks.

John looked at the man for two seconds before acting. "Sherlock pick her up, we have to get her to a hospital now! These Tossers' may have just killed her."

It was Sherlock's turn to follow John's orders. He scooped Emma up and with his brother, John and whoever the other guy was, in tow marched his way down three flights of stairs. Once on the first floor Unknown Man was taken into custody, Mycroft was hurried away to get his arm looked at, and Emma was carted off in an ambulance, with John ridding with her.

Sherlock stayed behind, keeping an eye on his brother, who was currently sitting in the back of an ambulance getting his 'graze' looked after. He sat on the back bumper and waited for the medics to finish with Mycroft.

The thing that really sucks about being able to remember everything, Sherlock couldn't get the sight of Emma looking as if she were dead out of his head. He felt his brother take a seat next to him, he was wearing one of those shock blankets, which Mycroft quickly discarded.

"Your arm feeling better, brother dear?"

"Just another reassurance why field work is not for me, brother mine." Mycroft said gently rubbing the bandage. The medics had tried to convince him he needed to go to the hospital, but Mycroft had brushed them off. Neither said a word, each lost in his own little world.

"Is that what it was like?" Sherlock asked softly and without looking at his brother.

Mycroft knew what he meant. Many times he had found his little brother in much the same predicament. An abandoned building, enough drugs in his system to kill a normal person and looking like death itself. "Yes," he answered simply enough.

They were both silent after that.

It was dark and Emma couldn't see anything. ' _Great,_ she thought, ' _Darkness again.'_ But this darkness was nothing like the river. First of all she wasn't under any water, she wasn't cold and she could feel herself breathing. She could also feel something holding onto her left hand, but like with her eyes before, her body would not follow her command.

A bright light shone in her eyes and finally her body listened to her and let her turn her head away from it. "She's responsive," a voice she didn't recognize said, maybe a little too loudly

"Emma?" Now that voice she did recognize. "Emma, can you hear me?" John was asking. "Emma, I need you to open your eyes."

 _They won't,_ she tried to say, but all that came out was a soft mumbling of incoherent nonsense.

"Try that again," Sherlock's voice came through, "but this time in English."

Emma kept her eyes closed, took a deep breath and focused on three little words, "Sherlock, do shut up." Well okay, four words, but they managed to get her point across.

"And she's back," Sherlock replied. He actually sounded relieved.

Finally Emma's eyes would open. John was sitting to her left and it was him holding her hand. Sherlock was standing at the foot of the hospital bed, a slight smile. "Nice to see you awake, finally."

Oh how she wished she could smile, but her entire face was hurting and felt swollen. Emma had to settle for sighing, "Not from a lack of trying."

She cast another glance around the room, there was someone missing. "Where's Mycroft?" There was a hint of worry in her voice. The last time she had seen seen him, he wasn't looking so great.

"Relax," Sherlock told her. "He prefers his own people to attend him. But he's alive."

Emma did relax, but only a little. Her mind was still incredibly fuzzy on what happened after the second dose. However there was one memory that stuck out. The look on Mycroft's face as he watched her breathing and heartbeat slowed. She pushed that memory as far back into her mind as she could.

"So," she asked, switching topics, "when can I get out of here?"

Mycroft sat in his dimly lit office in The Diogenes. One of his personal medics had just finished re-bandaging his arm; Andrea handed him a cup of tea. He hissed at the small amount of pain just lifting the cup caused.

The man, Hugo, sat across from him sipping his own tea. "Again Mycroft," he said setting his tea down and nodded towards the fresh bandage. "I'm truly sorry."

Plastering his signature fake smile, Mycroft waved him off. "Perfectly understandable. I once allowed my brother to be beaten in front of me to keep my cover. Think nothing of it Agent Pearson."

Both men sat for a moment, each finishing their tea. Neither would speak until both cups were done, manners after all make the man.

Once the tea was gone, Hugo cleared his throat and Mycroft motioned for him to start.

"Six months ago, Zack Kovak was hired by, I am sorry to say, an unknown group, to create a master key program. It would allow the user to..."

Mycroft interrupted him, "Open any security system." Hugo leaned forward and nodded. "He was hired to create what James Moriarty had claimed he had." Mycroft shook his head, "It's not possible. I had my people on that for months, even Moriarty admitted it was not possible. Something he made up, a fool's errand.

"I remember your people looking into it. While you ' _talked_ ' to Moriarty, your people hired a hacker." He pulled out his notebook, "Scyrae?"

"I believe it's pronounced Sky Ray," Mycroft corrected. Of course he remembered his people telling him about the hacker. He had allowed it, but believed it to be unnecessary. He had been confident they could ' _persuade_ ' Moriarty to play ball. In a way they had, but it had cost Mycroft dearly.

"I reviewed the report," Hugo continued. "Scyrae worked on it for a month before stating and I quote, _'Using those parameters it would be impossible.'_ "

Mycroft nodded, as to say 'see', but Hugo shook his head. "She went on to say, ' _Give me a month and I can make one if you want.'_ It took Zack six months to create a Master Key. Then, a week ago, the bastard manages to get the damn thing stolen."

"By Emma," Mycroft finished for him.

"Zack believes so. He said they met at a coffee shop a week ago, talked a little bit, he tried to bring her in on this, but Zack said she shot him down. From what he says, she was very American about it."

Mycroft gave a sincere smile. After spending just a little over three hours with the girl, he actually found her to be quiet intriguing. Well, intriguing for a goldfish.

"Well," Mycroft finally said, "if Emma did take the thumb drive then we have a problem. She has absolutely no memory of her life since four days ago."

"So that wasn't a play on her part?" Hugo sounded astounded.

"I am afraid not," Mycroft said sadly.

"Then you're right, we do have a problem."

Mycroft stood up, "The good news is we have Emma's real name. At least we can start somewhere."

"What do you mean I have to wait a whole fucking day before I can leave?!" Emma yelled at the doctor standing in front of her. Yea sure, less than eight hours ago she had been unconscious and barely breathing, but that had been eight whole hours ago. She felt fine now, in fact she had been allowed to visit Mary on the maternity floor, who had been ecstatic to see her.

"I'm sorry Ms. Emma," the doctor mumbled. Honestly the guy didn't look old enough to drink and here he was telling her she was stuck in that hospital for another twenty-four hours. _Like hell,_ she thought. "You suffered an over dose and our hospital policy insists we treat it like a suicide attempt, which requires a psych evaluation and a twenty-four observation before we can release you.

Now Emma was pissed, "I didn't try and take my own life!" she screamed. "I was held against my will, tied to a chair, and drugs were forced into my system!"

Lestrade needed to be here to explain what had happened, then maybe this dumbass doctor would understand, but Lestrade had been called back to Scotland Yard. John was with Mary, three floors up, and Sherlock had scuttled out of here shortly after she'd come to. Emma had presumed to check on his brother.

"You cannot keep me here!" she continued her rant. "If I want to go I can!" She'd had enough of hospitals.

"Ms. Emma," he pleaded, "we are only trying to help." Maybe in hind sight he shouldn't have mentioned the psychiatric consult. "We just need to keep an eye on you for twenty-four hours."

"I swear to god!" she yelled. They could probably hear her throughout the entire hospital. Emma learned she was great at projecting her voice when she was mad. "Get the goddam paperwork started for an AMA, right now!"

All pretense of trying to calm her went out the window. "Ms. Emma, you need to calm down. I don't want to have to call security." He crossed his arms trying to look authoritative.

A very small voice in the back of her head was trying to get through to her, it was say the same as the doctor, but Emma was refusing to listen to either of them. She did not want to stay here and no one was going to make her. If she had taken a moment to calm herself down, she could have easily convince the doctor to allow her to sign out Against Medical Advice, but the threat of him calling security to force her to stay there caused her to snap.

Emma was by no means tall, barely hitting five foot four. Right now, however, with her temper flaring brighter than her hair even the doctor would admit she seemed bigger. "Doc," she gritted out, her voice dropping a few octaves, "I put two grown ass men in your intensive care unit, with one arm in a sling. Do you really think ANY," she shouted out as she took a threatening step towards him, "of your security guards a can compete with that?"

The color drained from his face. He knew about the men in the ICU. One was still in a coma, while the other one had needed surgery to repair a busted check bone. The rumors about it being done by a young girl had be just that, a rumor. Now, seeing Emma in front of him demanding to be released, he believed it. Believed it whole heartedly. "I'll get the paperwork," he said quietly as he backed out of the room.

Now that the cause for her irritation was out of the room Emma sat on the edge of the bed, took a few deep breaths and felt her whole body relax. Unfortunately, now that she had herself under control, reason and common sense returned to her. As well as a wave of guilt.

It wasn't the hospital or even that annoying doctor she was truly mad at. It was the feeling of no control over her own life that had her biting people's heads off. It was that son of a bitch Zack. She absentmindedly rubbed the bruised that had formed in the crest of her arm, it was still tender. She wasn't an idiot, even if Zack didn't pull the trigger, he had something to do with how she ended up in the river. He had called her _Raven_ and even now the word felt foreign to her.

Emma slid off the bed, walked over to the little mirror and stared at her reflection as she repeated, ' _My name is Raven,'_ over and over in her mind. He bright blue eyes, framed by her vivid red hair, stared back at her in complete confusion. When she heard raven she thought dark hair, light completion, and brown eyes. That name just didn't fit her. ' _How sad,'_ she though as she reached up and gently touched her still bruised and swollen check. ' _I feel more connection to a random name, chosen out of a phone book, then to my own name.'_ The only part that doubted this as her name, was the part that couldn't remember anything, which at this point was every part of her. In fact the only reason she believed it to be her name was because of Mycroft. He was Sherlock's brother and as far as she could see he had no reason to lie about him believing Zack was telling the truth.

"Ah, Ms. Raven," a voice said from the doorway. Emma spun around, ready for anything, but relaxed when it was only the man she'd just been thinking about.

Mycroft entered the hospital room, giving it a contemptuous grimace. She ignore the fact he called her Raven and nodded to his sling, "How's your arm feeling?"

He actually raised an eyebrow, as if he couldn't tell if she was asking in ernes or just making conversation. She sighed when he took too long to answer. "Yes, Mycroft. I was worried about you and I am inquiring because I really do want to know." She waited two heartbeats before repeating the question. "So, how is the arm feeling?"

"Tender," he answered simply enough.

Emma nodded, she knew the feeling of being shot or at least the often effects. It was hard for her to believe it had been less than a week since that had happened and less than twenty-four hours since she had left the hospital because of it.

"See, that wasn't so hard." She moved away from the mirror, "So what brings you here? I'm surety sure it isn't the medical services."

Mycroft tossed a brown paper bag at her and she caught it without thinking. Looking inside Emma found a change of clothes and looking up at him in shock and confusion she saw him holding out discharge paper. She snatched them out for his hands and quickly glance at them. The words 'against medical advice' were nowhere to be seen. "How did…" she started to ask. He simply shrugged.

Fighting the impulse to throw the papers back at him she stated in disbelieve, "I had to throw a titty tantrum and threaten physical violence just to get the damn doctor to release me AMA. You come in here and he just signs off without batting an eye? What the fuck!"

Now both eyebrows were raised, but this time in shock, "Raven…" he started but she cut him off with a vicious glare.

"Do not call me that Mikey!" He took a step back and Emma took a deep breath. "Sorry," she said, not sounding like it at all. "But I am getting tired of people I don't know trying to control my life. It is starting to piss me off."

Mycroft actually nodded in way a accepting her would be apology, "I figured you would not wish to stay at here," he motioned to the room, "and went about getting you released. No control…"

"You were trying to be nice." Emma cut him off then paused, "Well nice for you. Thank you." She handed to papers back to him. "I guess." Turning her back on him, she grabbed the bag and took it into the bathroom.

Mycroft stood there for a moment, Sherlock had been right. For some reason when Rav…he stopped that train of thought. When Emma, he corrected himself, scolded him he actually felt hurt, or at least that is what he figured feeling hurt felt like. He has never felt bad for anyone in his life, well outside of his immediate family and it was not something he would admit to, not even to himself.

There was something about Emma that warranted sympathy from not only the younger Holmes but the older Holmes as well.

Emma stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the first outfit Mary had purchased for her. The black tank top with skinny, faded jeans. "You didn't by chance get the jacket I was wearing?" Emma asked as she threw the wadded up scrubs on the bed.

Mycroft pointed to the closet she was standing next to and Emma opened it door, pulled out the jacket. There was a little blood on the collar and the bottom of the sleeves. She ignored it and slipped into it. The sleeves hide the bandages that covered her wrists where the zip ties had dug into.

"I would have thought you'd like to burn that thing," Mycroft commented.

"Nope," Emma said popping the P. "It is one of the first things Mary bought for me. The blood can be cleaned and I like it." She flipped her hair out of the collar and looked Mycroft in the eyes, "So where to?"


	9. Chapter 9

**I Am. . . .**

 _ **Chapter 9**_

 _ **Raven Adler**_

Emma hadn't realized it was nearly two a.m. by the time they walked out of the hospital, quiet honestly she didn't care. Within the last three days she'd spent way too much time in hospitals, real or abandoned. She promised herself she would not be going back, well not as a patient. Emma had insisted on saying goodbye to John and Mary. Mycroft had been reluctant but Emma had given him a glare that could have frozen hell over.

Mary hadn't liked the idea of her leaving so soon, but Emma had reassured her that she felt a hundred times better. At one point, John and Mycroft had stepped out of the room, using the excuse of giving the ladies some private time.

"I just know John is out there trying to convince Mycroft not to let me walk out of here," Emma informed Mary.

"Well," Mary replied, "I don't blame my husband. I think you should stay, if for no other reason than I don't want to be the only one here." She rubbed her belly as she spoke, "This kid better hurry and make an appearance. I'm going stir crazy."

For just a moment Emma had been tempted to offer to stay with her so John could go get some sleep, but it was just a moment. She also knew John would not want to leave Mary's side. The fact that he had when she and Mycroft had gone missing, made her feel guilty. John could have missed the birth of his daughter.

Once the two men re-entered the room, Emma's suspicions were confirmed. John went to open his mouth but Emma held up her hand, looked him right in the eyes and told him firmly, "No!" That had been the end of that conversation.

Stepping out in to the night air, Emma noticed a black SUV waiting for them at the curb. "For us?" she asked looking over to Mycroft. He seemed to be grinning at her.

"What do you think?" he asked, his tone clearly patronizing her.

Emma took a deep breathing, fighting the urge to throat punch him. "You know what they say about assuming, it makes an ass out of you." She walked towards the car, intentionally not finishing the statement; she didn't want to call herself an ass.

"And me," Mycroft finished for her. This caused Emma to stop, realizing what he had just said. She hadn't deliberately tricked him into calling himself an ass but now that he had, she looked over her shoulder and giggled at him. Even if she hadn't been facing him, she still would have known he rolled his eyes at her, she could practically hear it. "Oh, very mature Emma."

"You said it, Mycroft, not me." Smiling she got into the car, he followed but didn't seem to happy now.

They sat in silence for a few blocks before she spoke up, "So, it's two in the morning, you have a young girl with little memory, where do you take her?"

Mycroft didn't seem to be paying attention; he was gazing out the murky window. In fact she wasn't entirely sure he had heard her, until he turned to face her and simply answered, "Home."

She nodded, "Baker Street it is."

His entire body shifted towards her, "Odd. I say home and you think Baker Street."

Eye rolls were becoming a thing for Emma. If she wasn't careful she was going to sprain them. "It is the only place I've ever been. Well, other than hospitals and I am not about to call those things my home." She leaned closer to him, "So stop trying to psychoanalyze me."

He said nothing, just turned back to the darkened window. Emma huffed and leaned her back against her seat, crossing her arms. They rode in silence until they reached 221B Baker Street. Emma was a little shocked when Mycroft exited the car, then came around to her side to open her door for her. She thought he was just going to drop her off and take off.

"Do you really think I need an escort?" she asked, taking the offered hand. "The door is right there."

"True, but I believe Sherlock and I need to talk." Mycroft held the front door open and she walked in, a little surprised she could hear Sherlock playing.

At least she thought he was playing. But when she and Mycroft walked into the flat, Sherlock was sitting on the couch his head leaning back against the wall, with his eyes closed. It was an iPod sitting on the desk that playing a violin melody Emma didn't recognize.

"So," Emma commented as she took a seat next to him, "is this what you do at two in the morning?"

Mycroft took a seat at the table.

"Normally I am running an experiment," Sherlock informed her, opening his eyes and getting to his feet. He grabbed the iPod and shut the music off. "So is this what you do at two in the morning?" he countered. "Escape from hospitals?"

Emma stretched out on the now empty couch, "If by escape you mean I had to throw a tantrum and threaten physical violence just to get them to sign me out Against Medical Advice. Then yes." She sat up on her elbow and jerked her chin at Mycroft, "Then your brother comes sweeping in and 'poof'," she mimicked a small explosion with her hands "the doctor agrees to discharge me."

Mycroft seemed to be ignoring the conversation, but Sherlock grinned, "Yes, well my brother dear can be useful at times." Emma just shrugged and laid back down.

Emma hadn't realized how tired she really was. In the hospital she hadn't been able to relax enough to even think about sleep. Then she had been so focused on not staying there that she didn't think she had even laid in the hospital bed once she woke up. Now that she was out of that place and somewhere she felt safe, her entire body started to relax all at once. To say that sleep wanted to hit her like a ton of bricks would have been an enormous understatement.

"You know something, don't you Mycroft?" Emma could hear Sherlock asking his brother but was too tired to track the conversation __

If there was one thing Sherlock knew about his brother, it was when he was either lying or holding something back. While Mycroft's face and body language betrayed nothing, Sherlock knew he was hiding something. It came from knowing this man his whole life.

"I think we should discuss it somewhere else," Mycroft said in a hushed tone, nodding to Emma who, by now, was asleep on the couch.

Sherlock walked over to the couch and kicked it, "Emma." She simply rolled over giving him her back. "She's out." He faced his brother again. "Talk."

"How about some tea," Mycroft asked getting to his feet.

It was a stall technique and Sherlock knew it. "Mycroft," he growled, even going so far as to reach out and grab his brother's arm before he could move towards the kitchen. "Talk."

Mycroft sighed, "Sherlock, it is two in the morning, I was shot and I need something to keep me awake. Now if you don't mind."

"MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock bellowed.

Mycroft looked over to Emma, expecting her to wake to that, but she didn't even stir. "Really Sherlock."

Before he could say anything else, there was Mrs. Hudson carrying a tray with tea and coffee. He looked at her in confusion as to why she was up this late. She set the tray down, noticed the puzzlement on his face and answered it, "I wanted to know how Emma was doing so I waited up. Since I know you boys well enough, I made some tea and coffee." She moved to the girl, brushed back a strain of her vivid red hair, "Are you sure she shouldn't have stayed overnight in the hospital?"

It was actually Sherlock who answered, "It would have meant forcing her, Mrs. Hudson." He was pouring himself a cup of tea.

Mrs. Hudson nodded, grabbed the light blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over Emma, "No sense putting her through all that. Well if you boys need anything else, please wait till morning before hollering for me. I'm going to bed."

Sherlock waited till he heard Mrs. Hudson's door close and then latch, before turning to his brother. "Talk."

Mycroft sighed then moved to pour his own coffee, he would have preferred tea but he needed something a little stronger. "Very well." His brother was not as in to the niceties as he was.

"The man, who took us, Zack Kovack, has been on our radar for the past three years. Zach is currently on MI5, NSA, SIS, CIA, FBI and any other government department with three initials, Cyber watch list. He recently moved from number two to number one."

Sherlock scoffed, "What did he do, kill is competition?"

Mycroft set his cup down and shook his head, "No. His competition switched sides, a hacker who goes by the name ScyRae. ScyRae was kind enough too helped out with another little problem."

Sherlock smirked, there was only one other case his brother would have needed a hacker for. "He's the one who confirmed Moriarty's claim about the computer codes."

Mycroft simply inclined his head to indicate his brother was right. "We were simply covering all the bases. We needed someone who specializes in computer coding to verify that it would not be possible to create a master key program." Mycroft shrugged, "Well, not with those parameters. Apparently Mr. Kovack spent the last two years working on it and recently managed to create a master key program he's calling Serenity. Lucky for us he also managed to get the thing stolen six days ago by Raven."

"And how does this involve Emma?" Sherlock asked, casting a glance towards the sleeping girl.

"Sherlock, allow me to introduce you to Raven Adler, known to us as Emma." Mycroft nodded his head towards Emma.

Mycroft noticed Sherlock give a slight twitch the mention of Adler. Impossible for anyone to see, well impossible for anyone but Mycroft, but chose not to mention it. "Our Intel said three months ago Zack attempted to recruit Raven. The best we can tell she turned him down and then took it upon herself to relieve him Serenity.

Sherlock rose from his seat, "What do you find out about Emma?" If Mycroft had Emma's real name then there was no doubt he would have background information one the girl. He couldn't care less about this Zack or a missing Master Key.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "Born to Robert and Iris Morrison in Brussels, twenty-five years ago. They moved to Irvine, California, due to Roberts's job, when Raven was three years old. Both killed in a car crash when she was sixteen and she went to live with an aunt and started going by her mothers maiden name. She moved back to London a little over two years ago." Mycroft held up a business looking card, "Is currently residing at 40 Lower Thames Street, which just happens to be right across from the Belfast."

"Damn," Sherlock hissed, looking out his window.

"What?"

"I was wrong about the foster care system."

"We both were," Mycroft stated. "But you were closer regarding how long she's been here."

Sherlock snatched the card, "Let me guess, you want me to investigate Emma."

Mycroft got to his feet, "It is fieldwork," he rubbed his shoulder, "and we both know how I detest fieldwork." He took his umbrella, "Do keep me informed."

Sherlock was incredible shocked, "You actually care what happens to Emma." It was not a question.

"I find her interesting and it's not often I can say a goldfish interests me." He saluted with his umbrella, then left. Sherlock could only smile after his brother.

The next morning Emma found herself waking in Sherlock's bed, her face and shoulder sore but not hurting too bad. The last thing she remembered was lying on the couch, Sherlock must have carried her to his bed sometime after she had fallen asleep. Emma glanced down at herself; she was still in the same cloths as yesterday so at least he hadn't taken that liberty. He was moving around in the living room, she could hear him, so she tossed the covers back and walked out there

Emma found Sherlock still wearing the same robe from last night and sitting in his normal chair reading the news paper, or at least pretending to, his eyes weren't moving across the paper

"Morning Raven," Sherlock greeted her without looking up, but she shook her head.

"Please don't call me that."

He looked up from the paper and tiled his head, "But it is your name."

She noticed a tray of tea and coffee and took a seat in John's old spot, "Yes, but it doesn't feel like my name." She poured herself a cup of coffee to try and wake up more, "Can we just stick with Emma until I remember."

Sherlock grinned. "Of course," he replied while returning to the paper. He wasn't going to tell Emma but it gave him a self-satisfied feeling that she would still chose to go by the name he had chosen for her.

"And wipe that smug look off your face," Emma told him as she sipped the warm coffee.

Pulling the paper higher in front of his face, he simply grinned bigger. "So are you up for an adventure today?"

Emma leaned into the chair, "What do you have in mind?"

Sherlock tossed the paper over his shoulder and held out a black, laminated business card. Emma sat forward and took it. Cheval Three Quays was written in gold calligraphy, with an address right below it. "What is this?" she asked looking at Sherlock with suspension.

He seemed a little too excited and Emma tried hard not to let that enthusiasm get her hopes up. "The Cheval Three Quays is an upscale apartment building," was all he told her.

She thought for a moment, than it clicked and her eyes widened, "This is my address?" It was a rhetorical question. "It's where I live. How?"

He nodded towards her room as he answered, "Believe it or not there is an upside to having Mycroft as my brother. Now, go get ready." He didn't wait for her answer, just got to his feet and headed to his room.

Emma sat there for all of three seconds before jumping to her feet and rushing to change her cloths.

Upscale was an understatement. The Cheval Three Quays was more than just an apartment building. It was a luxurious hotel combined with apartment buildings. The front of the building was large tan bricks; the windows on the first floor gave passer-bye an easy view into the lobby.

"I live here?" Emma asked in disbelief as she exited the cabbie. She craned her neck trying to get a view of the top of the building, but it was too high. "I must be rich," she commented looking over at Sherlock as he paid the driver.

On the drive, Sherlock had explained that since Mycroft now had her name he was able to track her personal information. He had left out the part about her parents being dead, instead simply telling her she had grown up with an Aunt. She hadn't questioned him, but she could tell he was keeping something to himself. She wondered if the Holmes brothers realized they were incredible easy to read, or at least for her they were. So now knew her name, age, place of birth and where she lived, which was more then she knew about herself yesterday.

"So what now?" she asked once Sherlock had joined her. "You don't think they'll just give us access to my apartment without a key?"

Sherlock just shrugged and walked in, tossing over his shoulder, "Let's find out."

Emma had to jog to keep up with Sherlock, but the lobby was breath taking. The marble floor was offset by the black pillars which had gold stripes in them, but it was the front counter that drew your attention. While the rest of the design was meant to scream elegance, the front desk was bright orange, shaped like a bowel, and pulled the eye straight to it.

Emma was about to complain to Sherlock about the speed he was walking when the man at the front desk looked up from the elderly woman he was speaking to. His eyes lit up and he politely excused himself, meeting Sherlock and Emma halfway to the desk.

"Mrs. Raven," he greeted, his voice laced with excitement and concern. "It is so good to see you back. What happened to your face?" His hand actually started to move towards her face before he caught himself.

Without a mirror to look in, Emma had forgotten about the bruises on her face and she found her right hand lightly touching the black eye. "I recently had a nasty accident." His name tag read Franklin, "I'm hoping you could help me Frank." She gestured to Sherlock, "Mr. Holmes was nice enough to walk me here, but I am missing, well everything, wallet, purse, key to my apartment." _My memory,_ she thought to herself.

Franklin waved it off, "It is not a problem." Guiding them to the desk, Franklin apologized once more to the elderly woman, "I'll be just a moment Mrs. Erikson."

"Raven," Mrs. Erikson said, "Where have you been? Bella missed her and Charlie's Thursday play date. I had to get Franklin to walk him, the poor little thing wouldn't stop whining."

For a second Emma wasn't sure what to say. It was obvious Charlie was a dog, but that would mean she had a dog too. "I am so sorry Mrs. Erikson. I had some personal matters to attend to."

Mrs. Erikson glanced around, "Where's Bella, you didn't leave her by herself for a week in that apartment did you?"

Without thinking Emma shouted, "Of Course Not!"

Mrs. Erikson looked a little shocked at Emma's outburst, in fact Emma was a little shocked at it as well. It was like back at the hospital when Sherlock had been rude to the doctor and she had chastised him for it.

"I'm terribly sorry; it's been a rough week." Emma tried to think of something to placate this woman without letting on she had no idea where this Bella was. Luckily it was Sherlock who came to the rescue.

"Bella's with a family friend." He said bluntly then positioned himself to block Emma from the woman's view.

"Raven," Franklin got her attention. He held out a plain looking plastic card, "Your replacement key and I went ahead and deactivated your other card, also," he leaned forward and motioned for her to do the same. "About five days ago," he whispered, "a young man comes looking for you; he seemed very intent on finding you."

"Was his name Zack Kovack?" Franklin nodded and Emma pointed to her face, "He found me."

The word anger wouldn't have begun to describe Franklin's face. He was livid, "He did that? In that case I am very happy to say he was thrown out of here. You did call the police?"

Emma smiled and nodded, "They are looking for him as we speak. Is there anything else?" She was hoping to glean her room number out of him without him knowing. He simply shook his head.

Sherlock gently took her arm and lead her towards the elevators. Emma waited for the doors to slide close before she turned to Sherlock, "I have no idea what floor I'm on, or what room I'm in."

"Penthouse," he told her taking the card key from her and swiping it in front of a panel. That was when she noticed the elevator had no floor numbers to push. "While you were talking to that woman, I watched Franklin's hands, he typed in penthouse."

"So," Emma commented more to herself, "I now know two more things about me. I'm rich," she waved her hand to show the elevator. "And I have a dog that I obviously care about."

Sherlock could tell from her tone that she was genuinely worried about the dog. "I'm sure Bella is fine," was all he said.

When the doors parted they emptied out into lavish hallway, with one door on the floor. The hall's decor matched the lobby in both taste and price tag. "I have the whole floor to myself? Man, I must be loaded." Emma walked over to the only door on the floor, waved the card in front of the same type of keypad as the elevator and the two of them walked into her apartment.


	10. Chapter 10

**The piece Liszt's B Minor Sonata is real, I watched the violinist, Giora Schmidt, play it and fell in love with it. No, Raven did not transcribe it for the violin (duh)**

 **I Am. . . .**

 _ **Chapter 11**_

 _ **What Little There Is**_

The door opened up to a foyer designed to mimic the one downstairs. Directly in front of them were a set of double doors that lead to the Master suit, while to the right was an arch way that led into the living and dining room. The kitchen was pushed into the curved corner of the room and the entire west wall was one big window, letting in the sunlight while showing off the London landscape.

"Okay," Emma finally said, "I am definitely rich." She headed over to the sliding window doors and opened them on to the balcony that wrapped around the entire apartment. "Check out this view." She could see the Tower Bridge and right across the river was the Belfast. While she was taken in by the view, Sherlock had gone straight to the Master bedroom.

The room was sparsely decorated and suggested that the décor came from the hotel and not Emma. The only sign of any personal touch was the music stand, by the bay window with a Scott Cao 1714 violin hanging from it. There were two pieces of music on the stand as well. The first one was a song he didn't recognize called The Last Goodbye, ' _Must have been the last piece she played,'_ he thought to himself as he glanced as the one behind it. Liszt's B Minor Sonata transcribed, by hand for a violin. This one he knew all too well.

A few years back he had managed to get his hands on a copy of the music, but could only find it for a piano. Even with his skill, Sherlock could get no further than five minutes into the thirty minute piece, he tells himself it's because it got boring.

In fact, as far as he knew there was only one violinist who had publicly played this piece in its entirety, the man who débuted it back in 2011, Giora Schmidt. In the top right corner was written Raven Adler 2007. Sherlock didn't know what to think.

He left the Master bedroom and found Emma still looking out at the view; her eyes were fixed on the Belfast, which could be seen clearly from the balcony. "Find anything interesting?" she tossed over her shoulder.

"You either you transcribed one of the most difficult pieces for the violin or you stole it. Either way," he had moved beside her now, "you appear to be fluent with it."

Emma nodded, "When Mycroft first met me I was playing. He commented he knew it wasn't you. I told him he was an idiot, just not in so many words."

Sherlock shrugged and the gesture irritated her, for reasons she couldn't understand. She moved past him back into the apartment. There were no personal pictures, or anything to suggest this was even her apartment, other than the violin Sherlock had found. No personal effects, at least not in the living room. There was another door off to the left, kind of tucked back into the corner of the living room and getting fed up with dead ends she pulled it open.

"Umm… Sherlock, I think I found something." The room she entered could best be described as an office. The left and right walls were floor to ceiling bookcases, completely packed. But it was the wall right in front of her that caught her attention. It was covered in news articles and other papers, thin red stings criss crossed their way across the wall. All of them lead smack dab to the middle were a picture of Zack Kovak was pinned. There were a few photos of other people but she didn't recognize any of them. "I have been a busy girl," she mumbled to herself.

"Yes," Sherlock said from behind her, "you have been a busy girl."

Sherlock gently moved her to the side, "You've been tracking Zack for a while now." She was about to ask how he knew that but he pointed to one of the older articles and pulled it down. "This one is from nearly two years ago."

Emma took it out of his hands. The title read, Sherlock A Fraud. "Why would I have an article on you from two years ago?"

Sherlock shook his head, "Wrong question. Why would you have an article on me logged in under Zack's stuff?" He pulled another paper down; this one showcasing Richard Brooks and looking as if it had been printed off a home computer, "You've circled the stuff on Richard Brooks."

Emma took this one too, "Who?" She glanced at the paper, logging away the important information, while Sherlock explained that Brooks was Kitty Riley's source for her article on him. She noticed in the margin of the article she'd written what appeared to be random computer commands. "So why would I write a backdoor code on this article and circle them?" She turned it so he could see what she'd written.

Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock took the paper back and returned it to the wall, "Follow the string." He gently ran his hand from the paper, following the red string, to the center of the wall, "It leads to an article on a Mountford talent agency, with the website highlighted." He stopped suddenly and turned to her, "How do you know it's a backdoor code?"

Emma shrugged, "Same way I knew how to beat up two grown ass men. I just do."

Sherlock scanned the room, then jerked his chin to a laptop sitting on a desk by the left side of the wall, "Think you can remember how to get on?"

"Only one way to find out," she answered, sliding into the seat. Emma flipped up the top and pushed the on button. A bright blue screen came on, with the words _Hold Still Raven._ Emma sat still for a moment, not sure what to expect. A small red laser popped out, landing in the middle of Emma's chest and her eyes got huge, "Umm, Sherlock, I think I booby trapped this."

' _Voice and facial recognition accepted. Welcome back Raven,"_ a Scottish male voice said.

"Okay," she muttered to herself. The main screen held about a gazillion little folders, each labeled. "There has to be a hundred different folders on this thing," she commented, more to herself then to Sherlock. She was quickly scanning the names, "This one." She clicked the file labeled Zack.

Inside was another diagram of the wall but with links she could click on as well as a subfolder marked Notes. Emma clicked it and Sherlock let out a low groan. The entire file appeared to be encrypted, only ones and zeros popped up. "I'm sure Mycroft has someone who can decipher this for us."

Emma said nothing and for a moment Sherlock thought she was upset about the dead end. "It says here that I came across that article," she points to the first article on the wall, the one Sherlock had first pulled down, "after you killed yourself."

Sherlock leaned over her shoulder a bit surprised she could read it, "I didn't kill myself; I faked my death, huge difference. How do you know it says all that?"

"It's written in Binary code," she answered. "I'm a bit slow at reading it, but give me a moment to get back into the rhythm." She pointed to the wall again, while clicking the computer down. "After I read the story Kitty Riley printed, I started to get suspicious. I go on to say how I," she made air quotes, "'got her notes,' by hacking her computer and those just seemed to confirm what I already knew." She paused here, "I seemed to think someone told Brooks about your life and he simply repeated what he was told to Kitty. And that Brooks isn't who he says he is."

Sherlock was a bit impressed. Emma got all this off a poorly written article and easily put a few of the pieces together. "What else do you say?"

Emma continued, " It says that I believed Zack created the Brooks profile and that I took all this info to a man named Scott, who apparently told me not to pursue it," she read a little more. "Huh, not only do I not listen, but I manage to track Zack's phone for six months without him knowing. There are conversations between him and a shit load of other hackers, mostly about computer coding."

Emma stopped reading and sat back in her chair. The high tech computer, the OCD obsession with Zack, and the amount of knowledge she seemed to have regarding computers. "I'm a hacker." Then something Mycroft said when she first met him, popped into her head. ' _You spend most of your time in front of a computer; I would go so far as to say it is a heavy part of your job_.' "He figured it out," she whispered to herself.

"What was that?"

Emma shook her head, "Nothing, just something Mycroft said."

"He pegged you as a hacker."

Returning to the screen Emma commented, "Kind of. He hinted that my job involved sitting in front of a computer."

Sherlock grimaced, not wanting to admit to the fact he had missed that deduction when he first met Emma, "What else is in this?"

"Um…let's see," she scanned the screen for a moment before answering. "After six months the man Scott comes here," she grinned to herself, "and look at that, asks for my help. Says the British government couldn't crack Zack's algorithm and therefore can't prove that James Moriarty and Richard are the same, so I gave him a thumb drive containing what he needed to not only prove who James really was but to crucify Kitty Riley."

Emma leaned back in her chair. She was downright vindictive when she wanted to. She glanced at the page number and was slightly astonished to realize that she was already a hundred and eighty-four pages into the document.

Sherlock was silent beside her and it made her wonder what was going through that head of his.

What was going through his head as that his brother had the proof to clear his name a mere six months after his 'death', but waited eighteen months before releasing that information to the public. In fact it didn't escape his mind that the 'proof' hit newsstands only a week before Mycroft's undercover work to 'get him out'. As if he was waiting to bring Sherlock back from the dead only after his little brother was proven innocent.

"So," Emma returned his attention to the computer, "after that I stayed on Zack, apparently I didn't believe his involvement ended with only creating an on-line profile. I figured out he was creating a Master Key code and arranged to 'bump' into him at a coffee shop."

Sherlock looked down at her, "You arranged that meeting?" Mycroft's Intel had been wrong.

"Looks like. I followed the signal from his phone and ran into him at a Starbucks he liked to frequent." She nodded towards the computer screen, "I'm a little vague about what went on at said meeting but I immediately started planning to break into his hide-out and steal Serenity. Well at least we know Zack wasn't lying. I did take Serenity."

This document was answering all of Emma's questions. Well, all but one and Sherlock was quick to pick up the one question that it hadn't answered.

"If you did take Serenity, and it says here that you did, then where is it?"

They were at the end of the file, "It didn't say. My last entry was talking about going to meet a woman by the name of Janna Kalderash."

"Kalderash?" Sherlock asked appearing a little excited. "Are you sure it says Kalderash?"

Emma double check, "Yea, it says I was going out to meet Janna Kalderash. It doesn't say where or who she is though."

Sherlock patted her shoulders, "The Kalderash Clan is a group of Romani. Janna is their matriarch. Finally, we're getting somewhere." He straightened up, "Grab whatever you think you'll need and well head back to the flat."

It didn't take Emma long to figure out, "You know where they are, don't you?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Of course I do."

It took Emma about twenty minutes to figure out what she would take with her. It would have been shorter, but she kept second guessing herself on what she should take. The violin was a given, as was the sheet music. It was nice to finally have a song title to go along with the music that had been stuck in her head for the past few days. While packing, she came across a leash, a collar, a few dog toys and dog food. She paused for a second, glad Sherlock wasn't there to see her hesitate. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach and Emma knew why. Even if she couldn't remember the dog, she knew she cared a great deal about it. She hoped where ever this Bella was she was being looked after. Needless to say, those things she left. There was no way to tell when she would find the dog and it would be easy to come back for whatever she would need.

While Emma gathered up a few of her things, Sherlock had started tearing down the wall dedicated to Zack. It was the only thing they were disagreeing on at the moment. The idea of something from her past getting destroyed didn't sit well with her, but she couldn't argue Sherlock's logic. All of the information from the wall was on her laptop, which they were taking with them. Not to mention they couldn't risk leaving it here and having Zack or someone else find it. No, it made sense in her head to get rid of it, but there was still a nagging voice telling her not to let him. While she couldn't remember gathering all this information, or even creating the wall, it felt odd to just tear it down. However, she couldn't argue with his logic about if someone else were to find this in her apartment. So, while she decided what else was coming with her, Sherlock got to work and tore down the wall.

Walking out of the master bedroom Emma found Sherlock waiting for her by the door, putting his mobile into his coat pocket. He was carrying the small suitcase and he nodded to the violin case she was holding on to. "You know you don't need to bring that. You are welcome to use mine."

She gripped the handle tighter, "I know." She'd used his violin before without asking.

He said nothing, just held the door for her.

The ride back to the flat was not as silent as Emma thought it would be. Sherlock talked about Zack and where the Master Code might be the entire trip back to the flat, but it was as they were getting out of the cab he dropped a bomb on her. "We need to hurry and drop off your stuff. John texted while you were packing, Mary's in active labor and we should head over to the hospital."

Emma spun on him, "WHAT!" she shouted at him, earning a few odd looks from passersby's. "And you're just now telling me this, why didn't you tell me sooner?! Why bore me with all that talk about Zack and the Master code!"

"I'm telling you now," Sherlock said clearing not understanding why she was upset with him.

"I swear," she tossed over her shoulder, "you are the smartest dumb person." Emma didn't give him an opportunity to argue with her; rather she quickly dropped off her things in the flat and dashed back to the cab, "Let's go."

This ride was silent all of two seconds before Sherlock chimed in, "What difference would it have made if I had told you sooner?" The tone of his voice was not accusing, it sounded like he was truly confused, as if he didn't understand the outcome of an experiment.

"I get that your brain works different than normal people and all," she looked over at him, "but when a friend is about to give birth, that kind of takes precedence over anything else." He looked about ready to argue with her, but she held up her hand. "Let me put in a way you will understand."

She paused. Now there was a challenge, getting Sherlock Holmes to understand normal human nature. "Think of it this way. To me, you waiting to tell me the information is the same as a suspect not telling you, what you would consider, vital information." Emma shrugged, "Sure, eventually you'll get that information, but the sooner you have it the quicker you can act on it. Emma continued, "For example. Had I known that Mary was in labor, it would have forced me to prioritize my belongings, meaning we would have left the apartment sooner. So rather than take the twenty minutes to gather my things, I could have done it in five." She glanced at Sherlock to see if he was following her, "But you didn't and I wasted time, and that's why I am mad at you."

Emma waited for his rebuttal, but none came. Her temper was starting to boil over, she wasn't even sure he was listening to her.

However he had heard every word she said. He was just mulling them over. What she said made sense to him. He often would lose his patients when dealing with people who wouldn't just get to the important information he needed to solve a case. Maybe this is what it was like for them when he would blow up at them. He didn't like the feeling, a feeling he had never encountered until he met Emma.

Luckily he wasn't looking at Emma so he didn't notice her face getting red. The cabbie pulled up the hospital and Sherlock made to get out but paused. "I'll take that into consideration next time," he told her getting out.

Realizing that would probably be the best she'd get in way of an apology, Emma followed him out of the cab and into the hospital. She was still annoyed with him but her face had lost that reddish hue.

Surprisingly, they were not the only ones in the waiting room. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Sergeant Donavon, and a mousey brunette that Emma didn't recognize, were all standing around the waiting area.

"So," the brunette said as she approached Emma with a very warm smile, "you must be Emma. It's so nice to finally meet you." She held out her hand and Emma took it, giving a confused smile.

"I'm sorry," Emma apologized, "do I…"

"Emma this is Molly Hooper," Sherlock filled in. "Any news yet?"

It was Donavon who answered, "John just let us know she's still at it." As if right on time, just to contradict her, John walked through the doors carrying a bundle wrapped in a fluffy pink blanket.

"Ladies and gentlemen let me be the first to introduce you to Rosamund Mary Watson."


	11. Chapter 11

**I Am. . . .**

 _ **Chapter 13**_

 _ **The Kalderash Clan**_

Visiting hours had ended and everyone had been shooed out. Mary and Rosie would be going home tomorrow morning; it would have been now if Mary had gotten her way. Rosie had been passed around like a sack of candy in a preschool classroom, never staying in one person's hands longer than a few moments. After one circuit, Rosaieseemed to be getting a little fussy and John was about ready to take her back to Mary when Emma spoke up that Sherlock hadn't held her yet.

There were small giggles from Molly and Mrs. Hudson, while Lestrade's eyes had gone wide. John seemed to either not notice or had ignored them because he'd held his daughter out to his best mate. "Just for a moment, she's most likely hungry," John had said as he helps Sherlock adjust his hold.

Rosie had stopped fussing the instant Sherlock had tried to tell John no and hand her back to him. She had stared at Sherlock with a baby grin on her tiny little face; if Emma wasn't mistaken there had been, for just the briefest of seconds, a grin on Sherlock's normally composed face.

Emma and Sherlock were currently sitting in a cab and she thought they were going back to Baker Street; it was getting late after all. She'd guessed wrong.

"Are you up for another little adventure?" Sherlock asked out of the blue.

"Aren't you tired?" Emma asked a little surprised he was up for anything.

Sherlock simply shook his head, leaned forward and handed the cabbies a piece of paper, "Take us here."

He sat back. "Please," and Emma chimed in, "'Please take us here.' Being polite isn't going to kill you know."

All she got was an eye roll. "Alright then, where are we headed?" she asked instead.

Sherlock refused to answer and slowly the city fell away, being replaced by green hills and scattered homes.

Emma let out a long yawn, Sherlock might not be tired but she was getting drowsy, and leaned her head against the rest, "It isn't too far is it?"

"There is a Romi camp just outside the city. Janna Kalderash is the matriarch and we are currently headed to their 'winter campgrounds'.

"Why did you air quote that?"

Sherlock smirked, "You'll see when we get there."

Rather than let him goat her into an argument, and because she was getting tired, Emma just leaned her head back.

It felt like seconds, but was actually an hour later, Sherlock was shaking her awake. "We're here."

Emma opened her eyes and was a little shocked to see they were in front of a, well house would be to insulting, castle would be too generous. A dark stone-gray, four story manor towered over her. "They live here?"

"Yes," Sherlock said helping her out of the cab. "The Kalderash Clan is I guess well off covers it."

Standing in front of the manor was leaving Emma at a loss of words, "When you said camp grounds, I was expecting…"

"Tents, and colorful streamers," a male voice from her left interrupted.

Emma glanced at the owner of the voice; his black hair was peppered with gray, his beard matching. "Well, not the colorful streamers, but yes on the tents," Emma said holding out her hand.

The gentleman took the offered hand, clamped it in both of his and looked her right in the eyes, "It is good to see you again Raven. Janna and the Clan have been worried."

Emma gave a quick up turn of her mouth but pulled her hand free, "I'm sorry, but I don't…"

"You do not remember us," he finished for her as he allowed her to pull her hand back and he turned his attention to Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes the younger," he held out his hand and for a moment Sherlock just stared at it.

"Don't be a dick," Emma hissed at him as she elbowed him in the gut.

Sherlock let out a small grunt, but took the man's hand and gave a short nod.

The man grinned, "I see not much has changed in you Raven."

"It's Emma," she corrected looking at the ground.

He said nothing, but nodded, "I am Rene, Janna's, well her right-hand man." He motioned towards the double doors at the top of the stairs.

"Shall we? Janna will be happy to see you again."

Emma followed Rene up the stairs with Sherlock close behind. She could hear Sherlock muttering something under his breath but it was too faint for her to understand. "When was the last time I was here?"

"Twelve days ago," Rene informed her as he paused for a moment at the doors. "You were dropping a few things off. Sorry but that is all I know. I am sure Janna will be able to fill in the rest." Emma simply nodded as Rene pushed the large double doors open, "Janna and the Elders are waiting."

The opened doors reviled a grand entryway that let out into a foyer. A winding staircase stood to Emma's right and a dining room to her left. It was the dining room that caught Emma's attention, or rather the large group gathered in it.

There were a mix of men and women, all assembled around a hand carved oak table, big enough to sit ten people comfortably. All of them were staring at Sherlock and herself, but only one moved towards them, a smile lighting up her face.

The woman wore tan slacks with a plain white top. Her slip-on shoes made no noise on the floor, dark hair was piled on top of her head in a very neat, tight bun, allowing no strains to escape, coffee colored eyes never left Emma's face.

"Thank the stars you're back." She stopped a few inches from Emma when she noticed the look of confusion on her face.

"Janna?" Emma asked, earning a few chuckles from those within hearing distance.

"No," she responded, her face matching Emma's. "I'm Maggie, her sister."

A voice boomed from behind Emma and she jumped. "There are times I wonder about that Maggie."

The figure standing at the top of the stairs left some doubt she and Maggie were sisters. Same eyes, hair and stature, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Maggie seemed to have adopted everything about the English customs, Janna's entire presence screamed Gypsy. From the flowing ankle length skirt revealing her bare feet, to her dark auburn hair streaming down her back.

Janna said nothing else till she was standing in front of Emma and clasping her hands. "It is good to see you again," she motioned for the others to leave as she lead Emma and Sherlock towards the dining room, only Maggie and Rene stayed. "I must admit I was getting worried."

Once at the table, Janna took a seat while Maggie took the seat on Janna's left and Rene positioned himself on the right and gestured for Emma to do the same.

A hundred questions whirled in Emma's mind, how did she know this family, why had she come to them right before she'd gone missing, how much did they know about her life and would they be willing to share it?

"I know you have a lot of questions, Raven," Janna started out.

"It's Emma," she corrected without thinking, while ignoring the smug look on Sherlock's face. She didn't think he would ever get over that she was choosing to go by a name he had picked for her over her own name.

There was a slight crinkling of Janna's eyebrows and she nodded, "So it's true. You have no memory and are choosing to go by Emma, rather than your given name."

"Please," Emma started, resting her arms on the table, "I have been shot, drowned, kidnapped, tortured and I am running on fumes. Can we skip to the part where you tell me what I need to know?"

Janna gave her a crooked smile, "You may not know your past but you have not changed a bit. Very well," she turned to Rene, "A cart of food and drinks." Then turned to her sister, "Maggie, her." Both moved without question and Janna returned her gaze to Emma. "What would you like to know?"

"How do you know me?"

"Three months ago you assisted me with getting my nephew and his bride out of Romania and bringing them here. We were able to sneak them as far as Prague but the forged documents were worthless after that. A friend of mine suggested I contact you and you were able to procure legal documents giving Nikolaus and Mirela asylum in London. It is because of that, and the fact that we had not paid you for the job, that I agreed to assist you twelve days ago."

"How was I able to get them legal government documents?"

Janna smiled, "I do not know Rav...I mean Emma. We paid you half up front and four days later you returned with the documents, I did not ask your methods. Since we were not expecting the results so quickly, we were not prepared to pay you. Honestly I expected you to withhold the documents but you didn't. You simply said to pay you when we got the money together. Two weeks ago I contacted you to say we had the money, but when you showed up you refused the cash payment. You wanted a favor instead."

Janna paused for a moment, as if she was hoping Emma would remember the favor on her own. "What favor did I ask?"

For the first time since they walked in the door Sherlock spoke up, "You asked them to take Bella and Serenity and keep them safe."

Emma looked wide eye at Sherlock, "They have Bella and Serenity?"

"You did give us Bella, but I do not know anything about Serenity." Janna nodded her head and Emma followed. Maggie was standing in the doorway, a black dog with white paws and belly sat obediently beside her, but every now and then there was a twitch from the dog's hind legs, as if she wanted to run but was keeping herself planted beside Maggie.

Emma stood up, "Bella?"

Whatever self-control Bella had, she lost the moment Emma said her name. She launched herself from her seated position straight for Emma. She skidded to a stop and sat on her hunches inches from Emma, her tail wagging and her tongue hanging out. Small whimpers escaped her as well.

Emma stood there staring at the dog at her feet, her milk chocolate eyes never leaving Emma's face. There was something she needed to do, but wasn't sure what it was. Luckily Janna saved her.

"She is waiting for you to pet her," she told her with a small smile.

"Oh," Emma said as she knelt down, patting Bella on the head. Apparently this was not enough for Bella, whom she could see creeping close enough to get her doggie head on Emma's shoulder. It was like watching a dog scoot its bottom along a rug, but this was only to get closer. Once Bella had her head on Emma's shoulder Emma could feel her earlobe received a quick click as the strange dog license bumped against Emma's check. "Eww Bella, no!" She wrapped her hand gently around the dog's muzzle, "You know better." Bella only looked at her with the milk chocolate eyes but made no move to get out of the grasp.

"Well," Sherlock's deep voice interrupted, "this is all wonderful news." His tone said anything but that and he yet to acknowledge Bella was even in the same room as him. "We are still in the dark about where you hide Serenity. Which means we are back to the beginning."

While it was true they still had no idea where she had hidden Serenity, she was not at square one. She was ready to go off on him when Bella nuzzled her hand and Emma looked down at her as the dog cocked her head to the side. It was as if Emma could just see Bella telling her it wasn't worth the aggravation. Instead she took a deep breath got to her feet as Bella took up position on her left side, her cholate eyes fixed on Sherlock.

"You were hoping I'd hidden it with Janna and her people," Emma commented, while absentmindedly petting Bella on the head. "Instead all we find is my dog." Bella sneezed, as if confirming her presence. "I consider that a win." At those words Bella seemed to prance on her front paws.

"I am sorry Mr. Holmes," Janna commented. "But the only thing Emma asked us to look after was Bella. I will tell you this, she was incredible upset when you left. In fact, I am surprised she isn't jumping up on you like that."

Emma smiled, "She's a good dog."

"Yes, this is all well and good, but we still…."

"Oh do shut up Sherlock," Emma said, cutting him off. "I get it. We are still looking for Serenity." She turned her attention to Janna, "Was there anything else I told you or gave you?" Emma was sure there wasn't, but thought she might as well be thorough, but it was Maggie who answered.

"Just these." She held out a yellow file folder, "These are Bella's papers. I guess you don't remember…"

"Bella is on the Exempt Dog list," Sherlock sounded almost board now, "as such you are required to maintain and keep the proper paper work on you at all times, and must produce them when asked by any officer." He glanced down at Bella finally and Emma couldn't tell if he was grinning or grimacing. "Still not sure how you managed to get a pit bull on the EDL."

Emma patted Bella on the head, liking how normal it felt to be petting her, while she grabbed the file folder. "Who says I didn't just hack the list and put Bella's name on it." It was a flipped remark but one that held a grain of truth.

"Well I think we are finished here. Janna, Maggie it was a pleasure seeing you again. Give my best to…"

"Why are we in such a hurry to leave," Emma interrupted as she moved closer to Sherlock. Bella followed but stayed on Emma's left side.

Sherlock was wrapping his scarf around his neck, "I am not looking forward to informing Mrs. Hudson, that not only will we be having a dog at Baker Street but that the dog is a pit bull. I figure the sooner we inform her the better and I am pretty sure we have all the information they can give us." He looked to Janna for confirmation.

"He is right," She moved closer to Emma. "I wish he wasn't, but there is nothing else to tell you. You have returned for Bella, so we have full filled our contract with you. I must say the new you may be more approachable, but I do miss the bad ass you and I hope to see her again." Janna motioned for Rene, "It was nice to see you Emma and you as well Mr. Holmes. Please give my regards to your brother."

Emma wanted to stay and ask Janna more questions, but she had to admit the late hour was getting to her, so she followed Rene out the door, with Sherlock on her right and Bella on her left.

Emma, for the most part, enjoyed the trip back to Backer street, even if Sherlock didn't. The driver kept complaining loudly about having to transport 'that animal' back to London, but all Bella did was laid curled up next to Emma, her head on her lap. There was one point during the trip back in which Emma was about ready to slap the driver upside his head but Sherlock beat her to it, well not a physical slap.

"Sir, one more word about the dog and I will personally rip your arms off and beat you to death with them."

After that the driver said nothing all the way to Baker Street.


	12. Chapter 12

**I Am. . . .**

 _ **Chapter 12**_

 _ **Serenity**_

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson's high-pitched voice was the first thing Emma heard the next morning. Bella had been sleeping with her in the upstairs bedroom, but when she reached to pet her, that side of the bed was empty, and Emma figured out why Mrs. Hudson was yelling. Emma hopped out of bed, grabbed the robe she had brought from her apartment and hurried downstairs.

"I am your landlady, not your dog walker," Mrs. Hudson was standing beside the front room door, her hands clasping her housecoat, while Bella sat whimpering at Sherlock's feet. Sherlock, meanwhile was on his laptop, seemingly ignoring everyone in the room, including Bella.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson," Emma told her making her way to the kitchen, "she is probable hungry." She pulled down the only clean bowl left and grabbed the dry cereal off the top of the fridge. Bella must have heard the rustling of the plastic, because she was there in a flash. "Sorry girl," Emma told her, setting the bowl in front of her. "This will have to do until I can get you some real dog food."

"Really Emma," Mrs. Hudson was now standing between the kitchen and the living room, her hands fidgeting in front of her. "I am not fond of those kinds of dogs." She nodded to Bella, who was scarfing the cereal.

Emma looked up at her, "Those kinds of dogs?"

"Pit Bulls, Emma." Sherlock chimed in from his laptop. "Mrs. Hudson isn't fond of Pit Bulls. She thinks Bella will turn vicious and attack her for no reason."

Casting a glance down at Bella, who had finished her breakfast and was now seated on Emma's left, with her tail wagging and tongue hanging out. "Mrs. Hudson," Emma said with a chuckle, "I am sure the only thing Bella will maul you with is her tongue." She scratched behind said dog's ear. "I'm going to get dressed, then I'll take her out." Without thinking Emma said, "Bella couch." Without hesitation Bella walked past Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock and laid down by the couch. This caused Sherlock to look up from whatever he was working on and follow Bella's movement.

"She's well trained," Mrs. Hudson called admirable after Emma, who headed towards the bathroom, "I'll give her that."

Emma figured only a quick shower, Bella probably needed to go out soon anyway. Rather than waste time getting her hair dried, she simply braded it while it was wet and left it like that. By the time, she came out Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the couch going through Bella's paperwork. Bella was at her feet and Mrs. Hudson was petting her absentmindedly. She wasn't sure how Mrs. Hudson had gotten over her aversion to Bella so quickly but seeing the two of them like that brought a quick smile to her mouth. She turned to comment to Sherlock and was amazed that he was watching the two of them and wearing a smile that mirrored hers.

Emma walked over to him and whispered, "I guess you like dogs?"

The smile left his mouth but not his eyes, "Use to have one, Redbeard. My parents had him put down when I was a child." Emma didn't miss him flinch once he realized what had come out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, must have been hard."

All he did was give a quick nod than turned his attention back to his laptop. Emma noticed the web was opened to Internet Movie Data Base. "Looking up a movie?" Her attention was back on Mrs. Hudson and Bella, who was now leaning into the landlady.

"An old American TV show actually," Sherlock told her without taking his eyes off the screen.

"What?" Emma returned her gaze to the screen. "You're looking up," she paused, "Firefly? What's that?"

Sherlock clicked the sound button and the theme song came on.

 _Take my love, take my land, take me where I can't stand._

 _I don't care, I'm still free, you can't take the sky from me._

Emma's eyes widened as she not only recognized the words but the tune as well. "That's one of the songs I was singing when Zach…." She hesitated, "When Zach was questioning me about Serenity."

"Mycroft was able to recall the tune and the words," Sherlock was no longer typing on the laptop, but had his phone out instead, "so I looked it up."

 _There's no place I can be, since I found_ _Serenity_ _._

 _But you can't take the sky from me._

Emma was still confused, "I don't get it. We know the name of the program, Serenity; so how does this help?"

A sigh escaped Sherlock's mouth, "Once again, people see yet they do not observe." He pointed to his laptop, which was showing a picture of the Firefly ship, Serenity. He then pointed to back to Bella, "Do you see now?"

Emma stared at the picture for a moment, then back to Bella, where she noticed the strange license hanging from Bella's collar, "Her license?" It was in the shape of the ship Serenity. Emma called to her and Bella trotted over.

Sherlock reached down and un clasped the license, "Not a license," he pulled the back of the ship off to reveal a thumb drive. "This is why Zack called it Serenity and why you were humming the theme song. What I don't get is why you were also humming that theme from Harry Potter. I hate not knowing."

"Bellatrix LaStrange," Mrs. Hudson chimed in from the couch.

"Mrs. Hudson, please," Sherlock started to rudely say, but Emma flicked him in the back of the head before he could continue. He glared at her but, in a softer tone, "Please continue."

She got off the couch, bringing Bella's paperwork, "Bella's full name. Bellatrix Railean Lasagna Adler. You named your dog after Bellatrix from the Harry Potter books and maybe your favorite food." There was a moment of silence while what Mrs. Hudson said sank in.

"I'm a bloody genius!" Emma finally said. Bella barked in what Emma hoped was an agreement. "I told Zack where to find the drive, it was with Bella the whole time."

Of course, Sherlock had to get the last word in, "I wouldn't go that far. But you're defiantly not an ordinary goldfish."

"Funny," Emma said, "Your brother said something like that. He said I wasn't a normal goldfish. I brushed it off, because he was being a prick. You have to explain it to me."

Sherlock grinned, "Maybe some other time." He pushed the end back onto the drive and held it out to Emma, "So what should we do with this?"

Before Emma could reach for it, Mrs. Hudson's hand snatched it out of Sherlock's, "We put this in the safest place there is." She told them this as she tucked it into her brassier.


End file.
